


Kintsugi

by melancholy_aries



Series: Kintsugi-verse [1]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Play, And he wants Grimmjow, BDSM, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Breathplay, Cunnilingus, Do you want me to seduce you Kurosaki?, Dominance, Dominant Grimmjow, Dominant-curious Ichigo, F/M, Grimm's got a GF, Hand Jobs, I think the phrase I'm looking for is:, Ichigo wants her too, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Polarity Play, Rope Bondage, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sex Toys, Sexual exploration, Soft Grimmjow, Submission, Submissive Ichigo, Tag As I Go, Tantric Sexual Practices, Taoist Sexual Practices, That's a just a given, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Vulnerability, dumpster fire, idek, y'all
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:07:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 39,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26491648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melancholy_aries/pseuds/melancholy_aries
Summary: Ichigo's life as a doormat is finally becoming too unbearable for him, but he doesn't know what to do about it. Grimmjow and his novia, Asami, can't stand idly by as Ichigo sinks into depression, especially when they might know just how to help him.
Relationships: Grimmjow Jaegerjaques/Kurosaki Ichigo, Grimmjow Jaegerjaques/Kurosaki Ichigo/Original Female Character(s), Grimmjow Jaegerjaques/Original Female Character(s), Kurosaki Ichigo & Original Female Character(s)
Series: Kintsugi-verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2035204
Comments: 31
Kudos: 65





	1. New Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet the new girl, Saito Asami

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is sort of like a TV pilot: if y'all show enough interest, I'll continue. If not, I'll just write for myself. And, like a TV pilot, this chapter is a bit rough, so if y'all do like the concept, at least, I'll refine this chapter before posting any others. 'Cause seriously, this is the becoming the weirdest thing I've ever written and it's likely that I'm literally the only person who cares to read it lol

_One Year Ago_

It was a bright, sunny day outside of the Kurosaki clinic. The birds were chirping, the bees were buzzing, the squirrels were running through the trees.

The humming of the powerlines permeated the air, providing constant background static. The sound grew louder and louder, stilling the wildlife just for a moment before spurring them to run.

A large _Garganta_ opened up, the displacement of reishi causing the nearest surge protectors to spark.

Grimmjow leapt from the _Garganta_ , landing with a purposeful thud and a blast of his reiatsu to let the ginger idiot know how unhappy he was about him ditching their weekly spar. And without so much as a damn note, either. Asshole. As if Grimmjow didn’t have better things to do than wait around the sands of Hueco Mundo to clash steel with Kurosaki...'cause he totally did, dammit! Grimmjow had picked up a few things since the Quincy Blood War, and he knew that the word he was looking for was “rude,” and he was going to make sure Ichigo knew it. Nevermind that this was the first time in four years Ichigo had ever stood him up.

After an eternity (read: 10 seconds) of pacing in front of the clinic with Pantera slung across his shoulder, Grimmjow had stopped huffing and started growling. Another ten seconds and he was stomping through the walls of the Kurosaki clinic like an angry bear, blue eyes ablaze with his displeasure.

Two heads swiveled in his direction: Kurosaki senior, as well as the most attractive woman Grimmjow had ever laid eyes on.

Grimmjow stopped his homicidal march mid-step and stared at her. Fuck, he didn’t even know women came shaped like her—soft and round and curvaceous—and he suddenly understood everyone’s obsession with sex. Not that he’d found the Espada and Arrancar in Las Noches unattractive, in a general sense, but even Nel was only occasionally tempting enough, and worth the energy expenditure, when he had more important things to do—like fight.

But her? This woman? Shit, she could tell him to ditch Pantera right now and he’d probably do it just for a shot at getting her beneath him.

And if that didn’t cool his jets and make him wary, nothing could have.

His eyes narrowed in distrust of whatever magic this woman was wielding, then narrowed even more when he noticed that she was touching Kurosaki’s bare ass!

Ichigo was belly-down on a strange-looking table, a sheet draped over him but folded neatly between his legs and rolled slightly toward the middle of his ass, exposing the outer half of it. And the woman wasn’t the only one touching his ass, either—his dad was, too.

“What the fuck?” Grimmjow blurted out.

“Ah, Grimmjow-san.” Isshin spoke diplomatically. “Why don’t you come back later, hm? We’re in the middle of—”

“You’re fucking naked.” Grimmjow said to Ichigo, who had finally lifted his head and was looking dazedly up at Grimmjow from a face cradle attached to the table.

“Hmm?” Ichigo mumbled, red lines in the shape of an upside down ‘U’ running across his forehead and down both sides of his face.

“You fucking missed our spar.” Grimmjow snarled and took a menacing step toward Ichigo, who simply blinked, uncomprehending.

Grimmjow had expected Isshin to intercept him—he was the only Shinigami in his right mind, after all. But the woman beat Isshin to it, taking a solid stand directly between Grimmjow and Ichigo, her posture firm but relaxed.

“Oh?” Grimmjow grinned at her, something sharp and curious.

She was undoubtedly human yet he couldn’t smell any fear coming off of her. In fact, he could only smell a light sweat on her skin and the scent of her shampoo wafting off her purple-black hair—wisteria and...grapefruit? He was drawn to her, a forceful, gut-twisting sensation which made him feel powerless against it, which made him angry and perplexed. Especially after what she said next.

“Ichigo is on _my_ table,” the woman’s dark brown eyes met Grimmjow’s undauntedly, “which puts him under _my_ protection. No one messes with him without going through me, first.”

 _Her_ protection? Ichigo was under _her_ puny fuckin’ protection?

Ichigo was _Grimmjow’s_ to do with whatever the fuck he wanted. He could protect the ginger, he could fight the ginger, he could damn well kill him. Who the fuck was this _mortal_ to get in his fucking way?

“You seem pretty confident that I won’t.” He snarled and pointed Pantera at her, just inches from her nose.

Isshin watched cautiously, knowing he was fast enough to prevent any harm from coming to this woman whom Chad had referred here from his boxing gym, and wanting—badly—to see how she handled Grimmjow Jaegerjaques. If she could handle him with even a modicum of grit, he knew he wouldn’t have to worry about her safety around any of his less-inhibited patients. Although, considering her background and the guts she had already displayed today, he knew he didn’t have to worry, anyway.

“I am.” She stated, eyes on Grimmjow, not Pantera.

With his anger quickly turning to curiosity as to how far he could push, Grimmjow slowly moved Pantera closer and closer until the blade pressed into the soft tip of her nose. Her eyes never left Grimmjow’s, she never tensed or flinched or crossed her arms defensively or took a step back. Hell, her look wasn’t even defiant, or a challenge, like Grimmjow knew his would have been in the same situation. It was...neutral. Like this was a common occurrence for her, which made her all the more intriguing.

“I could kill you.” Grimmjow tilted his head as though he were asking a question.

“None of you are human and all of you are men—any one of you could kill me easily, with or without a weapon. If I walked around in fear of everyone’s worst potential, I’d always be afraid.”

Grimmjow unconsciously lowered Pantera a little, too struck by her statement to maintain his pose. He had never consciously admitted it to himself until this moment, but he knew deep down that fear was his number one motivation to do anything. Fear that he would be reduced to a low-level hollow and have to spend millennia working his way back to his current state. Fear that he would be subjected again, forced to do another’s bidding because they were stronger than him. Fear that, if he had a new fracción, he would lead them to their deaths just like he did his first one.

Fear that he would lose control of himself.

“Generally,” the woman continued, “I believe that the greater someone’s potential for one thing, the greater their potential for its opposite. So, yeah, you _could_ kill me, end all my hopes and dreams. But, you could also help me make all those hopes and dreams a reality. You could help me live. That’s the potential I choose to respond to.”

Grimmjow’s arm fell completely to his side, Pantera scratching across the linoleum flooring. He just stared at this strange woman while his entire worldview capsized, like she was the only anchor in this uncharted sea, even though the tempest was her fault.

Grimmjow had never considered himself a bad guy. He hadn’t even considered Aizen a bad guy except that he wanted to control Grimmjow, to rule him, and that had been unacceptable. So long as others didn’t get in Grimmjow’s way, he didn’t judge what they did, and if they did get in his way, he’d never thought twice before about eliminating them. There had never been anything good or bad about it, it just _was_.

If this woman had posed a real threat, he would have killed her and he never would have thought about her again. But she didn’t pose a threat, and as such, killing her would have been beneath him—bad, but only because it wouldn’t have improved his skills at all, it wouldn’t have been a challenge, wouldn’t have been worthy of his effort. Killing a weakling would have made _him_ weak.

But the way she spoke... _end all my hopes and dreams_...Grimmjow was now staring at this ugly, niggling idea that maybe killing could be a bad thing. He would certainly consider it bad if someone killed _him_ —he had hopes and dreams, too, after all, ones that he would not only fight and die for, but ones that he _lived_ for.

And now, for the first time in his very long memory, he realized that other people did, too. Probably everyone, he’d guess. Aizen had, Ulquiorra had, his own fracción had. This woman, Ichigo, Isshin—they all had hopes and dreams that they lived for, were willing to die for, probably.

Shit, he had killed _so. many._ people and their dreams. He’d nearly killed Kurosaki’s best friend, had run her straight through with his own arm. No wonder they’d hated him...No wonder that Kuchiki _still_ hated him.

And if that weren’t enough of a fucking shift, he was struck with the desire to actually live up to this potential the new woman spoke of. He _wanted_ to help her live, help her achieve her hopes and dreams. Hell, he even wanted to help Ichigo do the same, realized that it was one of the reasons he sparred with the kid every week, why it didn’t gall him as much as it used to when Ichigo won.

It was too much to take in, so fucking overwhelming that Grimmjow just shook his head and continued to stare at them all as if he had no idea where he was or how he got there.

“Grimmjow?” Ichigo yawned, pushing himself up onto his elbows as he gained true consciousness. “What are you doing here?”

“What are _you_ doing here?” Grimmjow snarled and took a semi-menacing step toward Ichigo, grasping on to the one familiar sensation in all of this—anger. “We have a standing appointment, assh—.”

Quick as a snake, the woman whipped out a squirt bottle and sprayed Grimmjow square in the face.

Grimmjow spluttered and hissed like a cat, staring down at her incredulously, while Ichigo and Isshin tensed in anticipation of Grimmjow retaliating, but also couldn’t hold in their snorts of laughter.

“The fuck, woman?” Grimmjow demanded indignantly.

“My name is Saito Asami, sir.” She informed him as she returned the blue-with-yellow-polka-dots squirt bottle to the holster around her hips that was made from the waistband and pockets of an old pair of jeans, noting that he was confused yet pleased at the title she’d given him. “And I warned you that as long as Ichigo is on my table, he is under my protection.”

“ _That_ is what you call ‘protection?’”

Asami shrugged, just the hint of a smile on the corner of her plush lips. “It’s just the first line of defense, but I have rarely needed more than this.”

As Grimmjow wiped his face with the sleeve of his white jacket, he was surprised to find himself chuckling. “You’re fuckin’ crazy,” he said admiringly.

“Am I? Because I’m pretty sure that not only did I fulfill my responsibility to protect Ichigo, but also defused your temper, and maybe even got you to like me a little bit.” She grinned up at him as she held her thumb and forefinger a couple millimeters away from each other.

“Still a big risk to take with someone who could crush your skull with one hand.” Grimmjow smiled sharply, appreciatively. “Makes you crazy.”

“Or, it makes me a genius.”

“The two ain’t mutually exclusive.”

“True dat.” Both Kurosaki men shook their heads, thinking of Urahara and Yoruichi.

Asami laughed, then said, “Grimmjow, right? I’m in the middle of a job interview, so—.”

Isshin laughed this time and said, “You got the job the moment I saw your skills and knowledge in action. You got a two-percent cut of the clinic's earnings the moment you stood between my son and this madman.”

Asami’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head. “That’s too much.” She shook her head. “I can’t possibly accept that.”

“Consider it hazard pay. And believe me, you’re going to find out soon that it isn’t nearly enough to cover the bullshit you’re gonna have to deal with around my favorite son.” Isshin said fondly as he ruffled Ichigo’s hair.

“Dad!” Ichigo pushed his father away then tried to tame his untamable hair. To be honest, he still was only half-aware of what was happening. He still wasn’t sure why Grimmjow was there and making a scene...something about a fight. But why would Ichigo fight anyone when he felt _so good_?

“This isn’t the first time we’ve had an angry Arrancar stomping around.” Isshin shrugged. “And let’s not forget your friends, hmm?”

“If they’re all like Chad—.” Asami began.

“They’re not.” Isshin answered with a wistful sigh, making Asami laugh.

“Are they all like Grimmjow?”

“Fu—UH—ck, no.” Ichigo replied instantly and without filter.

“The fuck’s that mean, Kurosaki?” Grimmjow grabbed a handful of Ichigo’s hair, a teasing-but-not smile on his lips, and yanked Ichigo’s head back so his eyes could meet Grimmjow’s. This forced Ichigo more or less into cobra pose, but with an over-flexion of his cervical spine. “I’m a fucking delight to be around.”

“Grimmjow,” Asami said calmly, but firmly, as she placed her hand softly on his and gently encouraged it to move so that Ichigo’s neck wasn’t craned so far back. “Please release my client.”

Grimmjow scowled at her and the effect such a simple touch was having on him and then he actually...let go. Even as his fingers loosened, he was shocked at himself. Who the fuck was this woman? Why was he so goddamn powerless against her?!

Maybe she _was_ a worthy opponent and he just needed to chop her head off and be done with this sorcery.

“Thank you, Grimmjow.” She smiled sincerely.

“Hmph.” He grunted and crossed his arms over his chest, his cheeks slightly flushed from his confusion over why he no longer wanted to decapitate her. To distract from his conflict, he said, “You didn’t use the water this time.”

“You and I both know it wouldn’t have been as amusing this time. I don’t take risks with others’ lives.” Asami turned to Ichigo and ran her fingers over his scalp a couple of times before asking, “Are you okay?”

“Mm-hmm.” Ichigo practically purred as he pressed his head further into her fingers.

Grimmjow barely stopped the growl in his throat, unsure if he was upset at Asami for touching Ichigo, or Ichigo for liking it. And weren’t those both sobering thoughts.

“I’m sorry I dropped my guard, Ichigo. I think it’s best to call this session ‘over’ and for you to get dressed now.” Asami said apologetically. “But we can pick it back up tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” Ichigo said earnestly as he wrapped the sheet modestly around himself and made his way to the hospital bed where he’d lain his clothes. “I can actually feel my toes now.”

“You’re welcome. That pesky piriformis can cause some real problems.” Asami smiled brightly as she pulled the privacy curtain closed around him. “Good thing it’s simple to take care of. You can do it on your own, too, if you’ve got a baseball lying around.”

“You’ll have to show me sometime ‘cause it is always causing me problems. Especially after spars with this lunatic.” Ichigo replied as he walked back out to join the others in record time.

“I ain’t the only lunatic between the two of us.” Grimmjow rolled his eyes.

“I’m inclined to agree with him—” Asami smiled at Ichigo’s look of betrayal, “—seeing as how only a lunatic would have a standing appointment to _fight_ **him**. With _swords_.”

“Or splash him with water.” Ichigo raised his eyebrow at her.

“Touché.”

/////

_Present Day_

“You doin’ okay, Ichigo?” Asami asked.

 _No_ , Ichigo thought as he stared into her dark eyes. _I hate my life but I can’t tell anyone because it makes me sound whiney because it’s not like I have a_ bad _life, it just isn’t what I want, but I have no choice because so many people depend on me and expect me to be here for them, even though I haven’t seen any of them in over a year, not even Orihime—_

“Yeah.” He shrugged unconvincingly at Asami, though he wasn’t sure why he bothered—she could always tell when he was lying. It was just a matter of if she would call him on it. “Just a little tired from helping Urahara.”

“No offense, but why did he need _your_ help?” Asami raised a thin eyebrow at Ichigo as she looked over some paperwork he had just handed her.

Ichigo had to refrain from brushing some of Asami’s purple-black hair behind her ear—why did she never wear it pulled back? Not that he was complaining...okay, he sorta was, but only because it made it harder for him to keep his hands to himself.

“Gee, thanks.” Ichigo teased dryly. “He needed some brute strength to carry out his vision for tonight’s shindig.”

“Oh, shit, there’s a thing tonight.” Asami sighed to herself. “Do Grimm and I have to go to that? Whatever, nevermind. The point is: you’re way too valuable to only be used for brute strength, Ichigo.”

Ichigo flushed bright red, embarrassed and also pleased, as he hid behind a patient’s chart.

“And if it makes you too tired to sign your name properly,” Asami pointed amusedly at the very sloppy signature at the bottom of one of the pages, “then it becomes my responsibility to tell that creepy mofo to do his own damn manual labor. I mean,” she smiled teasingly at Ichigo and his gut fluttered a little, “if you can’t sign your own name, who knows what kind of mistakes you made with patients.”

Part of Ichigo desperately wanted her to do just that: take responsibility for his wellbeing because he was too—Soft? Cowardly? Nice?— _something_ to do it himself. But he knew he couldn’t do that. Not only would it be unfair to Asami, but it would make Ichigo seem even more like a push-over, getting someone else to stand up for him. Perhaps just as bad, if Asami were successful in keeping everyone off his back, he would be seen as her bitch.

 _Better_ her _bitch than the Seireitei’s, or Urahara’s._ Shiro leered. _I bet she’s a fun master._

 _Oh, gods, shut up!_ Ichigo cried in horror.

_Who do you think you’re talkin’ to, King? You’ve wanted her in your bed since the day you met her. Those thick thighs, that bouncy ass, her magic hands—_

_She’s with Grimmjow, you dimwitted demon! I don’t need you making me think about her like that!_

_She thinks about you like that._ Shiro pressed. _So does Grimmjow._

_WHAT?!_

“Geez, Ichigo, I was kidding!” Asami shook him lightly by the shoulder. He’d been too zoned out to notice that she’d walked around the desk. “I’m supremely confident that you didn’t harm anyone today. Well, except to break that one guy’s heart,” she winked, “but that’s just to be expected from a man who looks like you.”

“I didn’t—who are—what?” Ichigo’s eyes went wide.

“You are in serious need of sleep, Nurse Kurosaki. I am calling an end to your shift—which you weren’t even supposed to have today—and commanding you to go to bed.”

 _Only if you come with us._ Shiro licked his lips.

“I...yeah.” Ichigo choked out, his brain flooding with inappropriate images. “Thanks.”

/////

Asami adjusted her socks, the blue on her left foot and the orange on her right, as she watched Ichigo slink out of the clinic. She had been around for almost a year, and Ichigo’s patterns were as obvious to her as the color of his hair, and he _always_ returned drained from his time with Urahara. And it had to do with a hell of a lot more than overtaxing Ichigo’s brute strength. Asami didn’t hate Urahara but she did hate the effects he had on others, and she preferred to spend as little time with him as possible, preferring the same for Grimmjow and Ichigo.

Considering that they used Urahara’s underground training room for their weekly spars, keeping their distance from him wasn’t an option. Not to mention that Grimmjow’s gigai came from Urahara, as well as all of Grimmjow’s forged papers. A false move with the procurer of illegitimate legitimacy would spell certain disaster.

Maybe it wasn’t so much that Asami didn’t hate Urahara, as she couldn’t afford to hate him.

Besides, after Chad referred her to Kurosaki Clinic, the first thing he did was to warn her about Urahara. A vague, sort of nonsensical warning, but a warning nonetheless. And after meeting Urahara a few times, she could see how Chad—a man of few words to begin with—wouldn’t quite be able to find the words for the candy peddler.

Oh, how Asami missed Chad. He was so direct and epigrammatic, unlike the few Shinigami that Asami had met, or Ishida, Keigo, and Mizuiro.

They had met at a boxing gym in Tokyo where Asami had been working as a massage therapist for only a few months. Chad had noticed pretty quickly that Asami could see Hollows but had no idea what they were or how to handle them, and he had enlightened her to the world that had plagued her since she was a child.

Asami had cried for a long time when Chad told her she wasn’t crazy, and although it had obviously made him very uncomfortable, he had stayed with her and gently rubbed her back until she was done. Then he had filled her in on a few things in that concise way of his that spawned three questions for every question he answered. And when she’d confided in him that she had wanted to leave the gym, leave Tokyo, but that she wasn’t from Japan and didn’t know anyone but her extended family with whom she’d been living, he had changed her life forever by sending her to Karakura.

“What’s that look?” Isshin teased as he brought her a chart from the client he had just left. “Daydreaming in the middle of a shift? For shame.”

“Shame _is_ my middle name.” Asami replied absently as she decided what to do with the chart. “I was just thinking about how different my life would be if Chad had chosen a different gym.”

“Yes,” Isshin chuckled, “I would still be managing the clinic if he hadn’t sent you here.”

“Managing it into the ground.” Asami teased. “I barely read kanji and I think I’m doing a better job.”

“Oh, you are.” Isshin nodded happily. “I didn’t get into medicine to do paperwork. Where’s my son off to?”

“I sent him to bed. He’s practically a zombie.”

“He couldn’t last another hour?” Isshin sighed as he thought of all the menial things he was going to have to do now until his night nurse showed up.

“Not under my watch.” Asami said, barely reining in the sharpness of her tone. “Zombie equals mistakes, and mistakes equal brooding and shame on Ichigo’s part, as well as potential malpractice suits against him and the clinic. I won’t allow either. I’ll pick up the slack where I can, but you’re just gonna have to do your own blood draws until Hideki gets here.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Isshin smiled, supremely happy with his decision to offer Asami the position of clinic manager.

/////

“You would owe me.” Grimmjow purred as he nuzzled Asami’s neck from behind. He wasn’t wearing his gigai yet, so his mask brushed against Asami’s sensitive skin and made her break out in goosebumps.

“For the chance to put you in a suit? I’m way okay with that.” Asami turned her face so she could kiss Grimmjow’s temple then continued applying her mascara.

“Mmm.” Grimmjow slid his hands from Asami’s soft tummy to her voluptuous hips then up to her squishy breasts. “You sure about that, Sunshine? I’m feelin’ a little...uncharitable tonight.”

Asami’s breath hitched and she met Grimmjow’s gaze in the mirror. “Uncharitable, how?”

Having banked on that question, Grimmjow reached into his pocket and produced a medium-sized anal-plug with a red, heart-shaped jewel on the end. “For starters,” he told her as he nipped her ear.

“Yes.” Asami exhaled and leaned forward onto her elbows, pressing her ass against Grimmjow’s groin. “Please.”

Grimmjow growled and took a moment to press back before stepping away and teasing the hem of the robe Asami was wearing. His mouth followed in the wake of the fabric, kissing and licking every inch of skin that he revealed until the material was bunched around her waist.

Gods, he could look at this sight forever: Asami’s large, round ass; the adorable dimpling in her skin; the goosebumps as he softly blew some air over the most taboo of places.

Knowing Asami had just gotten out of the shower, and that she was meticulous about hygiene, Grimmjow didn’t hesitate to spread her cheeks and lick her.

“Oh, fuck!” Asami whimpered, sliding across the bathroom sink until her arms pressed against the mirror. She saw herself as her cheeks turned red, still embarrassed about having Grimmjow’s mouth down there, embarrassed about how much she liked it, and oh so aroused by it.

The more Grimmjow licked, the more Asami cursed and moaned, and the more she cursed and moaned, the more Grimmjow licked until her hole was soft and compliant.

This was something Grimmjow hadn’t even known about, let alone knew he loved to do, before Asami. In fact, despite his potential-centuries of afterlife, Grimmjow’s sex life had been very utilitarian until Asami. It wasn’t like Hollows used sex to reproduce, so they didn’t have the same drive that humans seemed to. When Hollows—Arrancar included—needed sex, it was purely to release the bottleneck of restless energy.

But with Asami, Grimmjow got to take his time, got to indulge. He knew they were sort of on a time-crunch right now, and he couldn’t indulge the way he wanted to, but he knew the term “fashionably late,” so he wasn’t going to let time completely dictate this sexual encounter.

Blindly, Grimmjow reached for the spade-shaped plug and the coconut oil. With a smaller plug, his saliva would have sufficed, but this plug required extra lube and Grimmjow wasn’t feeling _that_ uncharitable. Only after he was sure that the plug was ready did he extract himself from Asami’s ass and get to his feet so that he could pull her hair as he pressed the plug into her body.

“Such a good little slut,” he murmured as she whimpered beneath him. “ _My_ good little slut.”

“Yes...Sir.” She barely managed before dissolving into loud, incoherent moans as the widest part of the plug began its entrance.

“Gonna walk around all night with this little secret.” Grimmjow held Asami’s gaze in the mirror, tugged her hair when she tried to look away. “Gonna feel it with every step you take, gonna have to swallow all those little whimpers and moans. Gonna wonder when I’ll make you pull it out, when I’m gonna take you to the bathroom and fuck you over the sink.”

Asami’s hole spasmed hard, trying to grasp the plug and only ending up pushing it further out, but Grimmjow’s hand was firm. Once she’d relaxed again, he pressed a little harder and her hole finally closed around the widest part of the plug.

Grimmjow immediately smacked Asami’s ass, watching her skin flutter around the plug, watching her muscles as she arched her back.

“Anyone could come in and catch us.” Grimmjow told her, shifting so that his body was draped over hers, keeping her head up with a hand around her throat. Her eyes were wide and watering, giving him a look of adoration that always made him unravel just a little. “Would you beg me to keep fucking you?” He whispered darkly into her ear. “Would you get off on letting those stuffy Shinigami watch as I stuff you full? Or is it _Ichigo_ you want watching?”

Asami’s eyes darted guiltily away from Grimmjow’s.

Grimmjow slapped her ass again, hard enough to leave a handprint, then demanded, “Look at me...Good girl,” he soothed when she obeyed, rubbing his hand softly over the spot he’d just abused. “Would you put on a show for him? Moaning, and writhing, and begging for my cock? Would you invite him to join us?”

Asami let out a soft sob that sounded enough like “yes, Sir,” that Grimmjow didn’t make her repeat it.

“How do you imagine it, _whore_?” Grimmjow pulled Asami upright by her hair and with his arm around her waist so he could see all of her in the mirror. The shift of her body around the plug made her cry out and with her robe disheveled and hanging open, her eyelashes fluttering, and the flush of red from her face down to her chest, Grimmjow knew that she was already on the edge of cumming.

And she was going to stay there.

“You want him in your cunt while I fuck your ass?”

Asami gasped and her fingers dug into Grimmjow’s forearm, her nails leaving deep crescent marks. She couldn’t fuckin’ handle it when Grimmjow dirty talked. He had made her cum before using words alone. And when his words were more crass and explicit, she knew he was edging her because he knew that crudeness was more jarring to her than a turn-on...to a point, anyway.

Grimmjow decided her response wasn’t enthusiastic enough and provided a different option.

“Down your throat, then—fucking your pretty little face.”

Asami’s mind blanked for a moment, and she moaned and gripped him harder, her body shaking, tingling from head to toe, radiating from her core.

“Did I say you could cum, whore?” Grimmjow tugged her hair until her neck was craned backward to look at him upside down.

“No, Sir.” She whimpered, her body giving a last little shimmy before settling down. Most days, Asami was thrilled that she had learned about G-spot and cervical orgasms, even more thrilled that she’d learned how to have them and that Grimmjow was so fucking good at giving them to her. But they sure made it hella difficult to do any kind of orgasm delay/denial.

As much as Grimmjow loved that he could make Asami cum without touching her, he didn’t particularly like how eager she seemed to suck Ichigo’s cock. He couldn’t really hold it against her, though...he wanted to suck Ichigo’s cock, too. It was something he and Asami knew about each other, that Ichigo as a third was a prominent fantasy, but both had decided against ever approaching Ichigo about it. The kid was just so squirrely about sex that they didn’t think he’d be able to handle a threesome.

“You owe me for that now, too.” He growled against her neck.

“Oh! Fuck!” She whimpered quietly, her body shaking and tingling again.

Grimmjow almost let his grin show—he fuckin’ _loved_ how easy Asami was, how stacking her orgasms was nearly as simple as existing. But grinning would ruin the mood, so Grimmjow swiftly turned Asami around to face him and then commanded her to drop to her knees while he pulled his pants down.

When Grimmjow flicked his gaze from watching his hands work then over to Asami’s face, his gut clenched so hard that he doubled-over and nearly smacked his forehead against Asami’s.

Her mouth was open for him, her tongue sticking out as she made plaintive little noises.

Gods, she knew exactly how to make Grimmjow lose control, and that fact both enraged him ( _he_ was the one in control, the one with the power, dammit!) and made him love her all the more.

Grimmjow snarled down at her as he threaded his fingers through her wet hair, pulling meanly as he pushed his generously-sized cock into her mouth until her lips were pressed up against his balls. He rolled his hips against her face, feeling her nose poke him in the belly, and groaned at the way her throat spasmed around him. He never ceased to be amused by how much Asami “talked” like this, how he could hear the “please” and the “more” and the “fuck me” with only vibrations and pitch at her disposal.

Asami’s fingers dug deep into the meat of his ass, pulling him closer, and Grimmjow knew she wanted him to fuck her harder, faster, more callously. And he was more than happy to oblige.

As a cannibalistic creature, Grimmjow had never allowed another hollow of any level to take any part of him into their mouths, and vice versa. The fear of having his favorite and most intimate body part torn off and _consumed_ was much stronger than any lust he’d ever felt. So, the first time that Asami ventured toward Pantera Dos with her mouth, there had been a bit of a dustup that had taken a lot of effort for them to navigate.

Well, for _him_ to navigate. Honestly, when Grimmjow looked back on their time together, he wasn’t sure why Asami had put so much effort into him. He had been rude, surly, moody, and arrogant. Not that Asami hadn’t had her judgmental and snippy moments, but overall, Grimmjow knew who’d had the more difficult partner. Seriously, the fact that she had solved their dustup by stripping and telling him he was only allowed to touch her with his mouth, and if he ended up losing control and cannibalizing her then at least she’d die doing something she loved, was all he needed in order to know that he had found the woman for him.

In the present, Grimmjow's whole world was narrowed down to the sensations of Asami's mouth wrapped around him: the heat, the slickness of her saliva, the give in her throat as he pushed deeper. He wrapped his hand awkwardly around her throat, feeling himself penetrate her, squeezing harder, making her throat tighter.

Despite how motherfucking good this felt, how badly he just wanted to lose himself completely to what he was doing to Asami, he refused. He had to stay conscious enough to recognize her safe signal. Because even though it was hotter to think of him doing this _to_ Asami, he knew that it was really Asami who _allowed_ him to do this to her and he wasn’t about to break that trust.

Not to mention that even in his gigai, he was strong enough that one false move could kill Asami. And then what? She’d go to the Seireitei? She’d become a Hollow? Grimmjow didn’t want either afterlife for her and it stressed him out to think about what was going to happen to her, to know that he could lose her.

Thankfully, Asami’s tongue did something that made Grimmjow’s consciousness begin to recede, his body to tense, and he could no longer breathe through his nose.

It was that last sign that made Grimmjow pull out immediately, even though he was _so close_ he was shaking. He kept himself propped up with one hand still in Asami’s hair and the other using the countertop as support. They both panted for a few moments, smiling at each other, and then began a more deliberate, specific type of breathing called the Microcosmic Orbit.

Asami had taught Grimmjow about harnessing and utilizing sexual energy, and the potency of that energy was sharply decreased when the breathing became erratic and/or when ejaculatory/clitoral orgasm were achieved. And with the fucking “diplomatic” event they were attending tonight, they were going to need all the help they could get.

This was Asami’s favorite part, the intimacy of breathing together, of staring into Grimmjow’s eyes, of sharing their sexual energies and using them to improve themselves and each other. She always marveled that the only way to get this kind of power, intimacy, and vulnerability was through fantastic sex. Like connecting with someone on that physical level was the key to connecting to the Universe and everyone else within it.

They breathed through their noses, moving their breath up their spines on the inhale, and down their fronts on the exhale. After several rounds of this, they both imagined storing their breath in a crystal container behind their navels, accumulating reserves of creative energy.

When they were finished with storing their energies, Asami grinned then leaned forward to begin another round, but Grimmjow stopped her by dropping to his knees and then kissing her cross-eyed.

“I kinda like you.” He smiled against her mouth then pulled away to watch her blush. He would never understand why something like that flustered her, especially after what they’d just done. Not that he was complaining—seeing Asami flustered was one of his favorite sights.

“Just ‘kinda?’” She smiled back at him. “You really _are_ uncharitable tonight.”

“Not as uncharitable as I could be,” he reminded her, his voice low and spine-tingling as he went in for more kisses. “I could punish you for cumming without permission—I wanted us _both_ to wait until after the party.” He nipped her lip hard enough to sting. “Maybe I should cum all over this gorgeous-fucking-face, all over your hair, so you have to start all over again. Or,” he grinned wickedly, “make you leave it. Walk you into the party looking like the little cumslut you are.”

Asami squeaked as Grimmjow pulled her legs out from under her and pressed her back against the wooden slats of the bathroom floor.

“Maybe I should let all this magic go to waste.” He swiped his finger through her soaked sex then made a show of sucking his finger.

As if he would ever let this magic go to waste. Grimmjow had actually noticed that the more often he ate out Asami, the less he needed to feed on others’ reiryoku. Win-win.

Grimmjow pulled Asami’s legs over his shoulders and held her hips down as he licked her clean. He savored the tangy taste of her, the way her thighs gripped his head and her heels dug into his back. He took his time with her, a leisurely pursuit not meant to arouse but to allay her excitement.

Eventually, Asami was dry enough for Grimmjow to put her panties on her.

“Those were supposed to be a surprise.” She admonished with a laugh as Grimmjow slid a lacy pair of cheeky-cut panties that were exactly the color of his eyes over Asami’s legs.

He kissed and licked his way up her body, his mouth following behind the fabric. “Found the dress, too.”

“Snoop.” Asami accused as Grimmjow licked her bellybutton.

Grimmjow laughed, the vibrations tickling Asami and making her squirm a little. “Snoop? You left them on the bed.”

“In a box! A box I marked, ‘Not for Grimmjow. Stay out.’”

“The surest way to get anyone to do anything.” Grimmjow smiled smugly down at Asami as he covered her body with his and entwined their hands together. “And they _are_ for me.”

“No, they’re for _me_.” She sniffed snootily. “Comfort items for when you’re in Hueco Mundo or working overnight.”

Grimmjow’s chest felt like it had expanded to twice its size—she found comfort in him? She missed him when he wasn’t around?

Grimmjow kissed her, slow and sensual, his hands in her hair and his hips grinding between her legs. What had he been thinking when he put her panties on her? When he stopped her from going another round? Because all he wanted to do right now was to be inside her, fill her up, listen to her moan and tell him that she loved him.

A little sappy, sure, but Grimmjow had stopped judging himself for that months ago. It was nice to know that she liked him, too.

Grimmjow gave an exasperated groan and pulled himself away from Asami. “Tonight, Sunshine.” He promised. “Don’t wear yourself out dancing.”

“Or what?” She teased.

“Or I’m gonna go from uncharitable to cruel.” He promised darkly.

Asami shuddered, her pupils dilated, and her breath hitched. Images of ropes, and teeth, and toys flooded her brain. Fuck but she loved when Grimmjow was cruel.

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered.

 _Gods,_ Grimmjow thought, _she’s so fucking perfect._

Grimmjow flipped Asami onto her stomach, keeping her from moving by placing his knee in her back while he searched for something in the bathroom drawers.

“You’re such a brute,” Asami tried to pout but there was no hiding the dreamy quality to her voice.

“And yet you’re already wet for me again.” He grazed his finger across her panties before pushing her legs together and using his teeth to pull the cap off his purple Sharpie.

“Are you drawing an arrow?” She laughed bewilderedly.

“Hold still.” Grimmjow mumbled around the cap and slapped her ass. “You’ll mess me up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want me to keep feeding you this crazy story, I need you to feedback: likes, bookmarks, and especially comments :)


	2. Old Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 of the "diplomatic event." Urahara's up to something (shocker), Nel hates Rukia, and Ichigo opens up to Asami. POV from Ichigo, Asami, and Grimmjow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all for your encouragement! I have also re-posted chapter 1 mostly with small additions that give a little more depth (I hope) to Asami, and the smut at the end has been expanded and changed a little.

_This blooooows._ Shiro whined, his face drawn down as if he were dying.

_Shut up, Shiro. We haven’t even been here an hour._

_One minute was too long! None of these Shinigami know what to do with you._

“Ichigo, are you listening?” Rukia scowled at him.

“No.” He said before he could stop himself, immediately cringing because he had meant to say ‘I’m sorry.’ He rushed to say, “Shiro was talking over you, Rukia. Go ahead.”

“Shiro...talks to you? Just, whenever? You don’t have to go to your Inner World?”

Shiro bristled at the wariness in her tone.

 _Of course I fucking talk to you ‘just, whenever.’ Pssh. I_ am _you!_

“Does that scare you?” Ichigo asked as his eyes scanned the entrance for Grimmjow and Asami.

Urahara had (with a lot of help from Ichigo) converted a large portion of his underground training area into a Grecian-style room with suggestive marble statues, water features, and flowing red and pink draperies everywhere. Round tables with cushioned chairs dotted the room, large pillars adorned the borders, a dancefloor was located center-right, and the very large, square bar where Tessai was doling out drinks was center-left.

“What? Don’t be a fool.” Rukia crossed her arms over her chest. “It irritates me that he can interrupt me without me knowing it.”

Well, it was a good thing she rarely talked to Ichigo anymore, wasn’t it?

 _Don’t spoil it,_ Ichigo told himself. _That’s not fair to her, and she’s here now, so have a good time._

 _Doormat_. Shiro sneered.

_Just, shut up for a minute, ‘kay?_

“He won’t interrupt you again. What were you saying earlier, Rukia?”

“I asked you where Orihime is. She told me she would be here.”

“Oh.” Ichigo’s shoulders rounded forward and his head lowered a little. “She told Uryū she couldn’t make it. Forgot about an assignment or something.”

At that stupid, crazy, no-good culinary program that was so impressed with her creativity—if not the results—that they offered her a scholarship. She had graduated a year ago at the same time as Ichigo and Uryū, but the school had talked her into a master’s degree in food science, or something equally maddening. Ichigo just wanted her back here, in Karakura, so that he could tell her what he’d always wanted to tell her. Although, there wasn’t any guarantee that he’d be able to man-up any more now than he had as a teenager when she’d told him she was moving to Kyoto in the first place.

“Silly girl.” Rukia shook her head fondly.

“Wait...when did she tell you she was coming?”

Ichigo hadn’t seen Orihime in over a year. He could barely get her to text him back.

“We take tea every Thursday.”

 _Those bitches_. Shiro huffed.

Every Thursday. He and Grimmjow sparred every Thursday.

This was a long-lived argument between Ichigo and Rukia, ever since he and Grimmjow began their weekly sparring around five years ago. Ichigo didn’t blame Rukia for hating the guy—he had impaled her on his own arm, after all—and he also couldn’t quite blame Grimmjow for being a violent, hot-headed maniac.

Not only had Grimmjow been a fucking Hollow for who knew how long, but Aizen had created him to be a violent maniac and had thrown Grimmjow into a competition with dozens of other violent maniacs to determine who would be deadly and who would be dead. Grimmjow had become what he needed to in order to survive and it was ugly as hell, but he was trying to be better.

When Grimmjow had shown up at Ichigo’s window one evening a month or so after the Quincy Blood War, with his teeth gritted and his eyes blazing, clearly forcing himself not to run, and asked Ichigo, “Would you...y’know...fuck...can we train? Together?...Please?” Ichigo hadn’t had the heart to say no, especially because Grimmjow’s ‘please’ sounded so stilted and awkward, like he’d learned the word just for Ichigo.

In fact, Ichigo hadn’t even _wanted_ to say no. At that point, the Seireitei had more or less dismissed him—again—and his Shinigami friends had more important things to do than hang around with him in Karakura, so a sparring partner that provided a challenge was something that Ichigo welcomed with open arms. It wasn’t like he hadn’t forgiven Urahara, Renji, and Byakuya for trying to kill Rukia, so forgiving Grimmjow was easy.

Rukia didn’t see it that way and often blamed it for her extended absences from Ichigo’s life. Ichigo knew better but was never going to say anything because what the fuck would be the point?

“Whoo!” Renji laughed as he took his seat between Rukia and Ichigo, his shihakushō fluttering as he set their drinks down on the table. “This,” he pushed a mason jar of clear alcohol over to Rukia, “is some crazy shit.”

“What is it?” Ichigo asked as he opened his water bottle. He could smell the alcohol from where he sat.

“Tessai called it ‘moonshine.’” Renji coughed and laughed after taking a swig. “Said it’s American.”

“What?!” Ichigo’s eyebrows nearly ended up at his hairline. He’d heard stories of moonshine before, most of them from Asami, and it seemed distinctly antithetical to the survival of... _everyone on the planet_ to give moonshine to these Shinigami mofo’s.

“Yeah,” Renji shrugged, “it ain’t _sake_ but it’s free! Here’s to free booze!”

Free? Ichigo was getting a terrified feeling that was unique to undergoing one of Urahara’s experiments. There would, hopefully, be those who had chosen other drinks.

“TO FREE BOOZE!” Nearly everyone in the room shouted in return, and all of them held up mason jars rather than cups of _sake_ or of green tea.

Yeah, of course, they were all drinking the moonshine. Why had Ichigo expected anything different?

Shinigami, former Visards, Arrancar, Quincy, and a few humans, all getting drunk together in the name of collaboration and forgiveness while Urahara experimented on them. Nothing could go wrong.

At least everyone had been required to wear gigai and check their zanpaktō at the door.

“Ichigo.” Uryū pushed his glasses as he took a seat at the table, careful not to wrinkle his black suit. “Rukia. Renji. It’s been a while.”

“You know how it is,” Renji folded his arms behind his head and smirked, “the lives of a Captain and a Lieutenant. Shit gets busy.”

“I’m sure it does.” Uryū nodded. “All is well in Seireitei, I hope?”

“Same old, same old.” Renji shrugged.

“So...it’s being invaded again?” Uryū lifted an eyebrow.

Ichigo laughed and almost held up his hand for a high five before remembering that this was Uryū.

“Ha, ha.” Rukia sniffed jokingly, then pulled out her notebook and pen and began drawing excitedly. “At the Thirteenth, we’ve installed a new monitoring system for Karakura so we know faster when Zennosuke needs backup.”

“Because Ichigo and I aren’t good enough?” Uryū teased.

“Because you and Ichigo aren’t Shinigami.” Rukia said sincerely. “You have your own lives to live.”

 _Is she fuckin’ serious?_ Shiro shouted and crumbled a piece of skyscraper in his palm. _She and hers drag us all over the Three Worlds to do their fuckin’ dirty work and just toss us aside like they’re doin’ us a favor because “you’re not a Shinigami, you have your own life to live”? Like they can just sweep us under the rug and expect us to forget just ‘cause they want to forget that they were ever so useless that they needed us?!_

 _Calm down, man._ Ichigo said worriedly.

_Fuckin’ ask her if she’s serious, King!_

“Hey, speakin’ of Zennosuke,” Renji cut in, “he swears Jaegerjacques is datin’ a human!”

“He is.” Ichigo and Uryū said in unison, giving each other irritated looks.

“It’s true?!”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Rukia demanded. “Do you think my subordinates are liars?”

“Knowin’ their Captain, it wouldn’t be a stretch.” Renji teased, throwing his arms up to block his face from Rukia’s tiny fists. When she harumphed and sat back in her seat, Renji swooped in for a quick kiss on her mouth. “I just figured he was...what’s the word...misinterpreting things.”

“Considering who she’s dating, I can understand your confusion.” Rukia huffed disdainfully.

“Considering you haven’t been to Karakura in fourteen months,” Ichigo bit out without thinking, “you don’t really know who she’s dating.”

Just like he didn’t know who Rukia was dating. How long had she and Renji been together? Long enough that Renji kissed her in public, kissed her where her brother could see. They didn’t think that was important enough to tell Ichigo? Or, was Ichigo just not important enough to tell?

“She’s dating a homicidal maniac.” Rukia said as coldly as her brother ever could have.

“Oi, it isn’t his fault a Shinigami never saved him from turning into a Hollow, is it? And it isn’t his fault that a Shinigami warped his brain.” Ichigo defended hotly.

Renji winced a little at that, but Rukia held firm.

“Even with all that, he refused to kill me after Ulquiorra wiped the floor with me, and he protected Orihime, even when she refused to do what he demanded. And since learning that there are better ways to live than what Aizen made him believe, he’s been doing his best to be different.”

“Different than the lunatic who shoved his arm through my guts?” Rukia asked contemptuously.

“Yeah, different than that lunatic.” Ichigo snapped back.

“Dude, what is with you, today?” Renji asked. “You fail a test or somethin’?”

“Ichigo’s been out of school for a year.” Uryū answered. “It is far more likely that he hasn’t gotten enough sleep and now he’s grumpy.” Uryū finished as though he were talking about a two-year-old.

“Fuck you, Ishida.” Ichigo narrowed his eyes at Uryū’s smirk.

Uryū did have a point, though: Ichigo barely slept last night, and the nap Asami had sent him to take had been too short, yet just long enough to make things worse. Of course he was on edge. Now it all made sense.

 _How did I end up with such a stupid King?_ Shiro rolled his eyes. _You’re not angry because you’re tired, you’re_ lashing out _because you’re tired._

“Perhaps you should go take a nap.” Rukia mocked.

 _Perhaps you should go to hell, bitch._ Shiro mocked right back.

Ichigo hated being caught between Shiro and Rukia, especially when he agreed with Shiro.

It was true that Rukia’s blunt manner had pulled Ichigo from his brooding in the past, but Ichigo knew, now, that it hadn’t been her approach to him that had made the difference, rather the fact that her presence meant he was about to be useful, helpful. That he would have some chances to make up for his past. In reality, all Rukia’s methods did were make Ichigo bottle up everything that was bothering him, make him feel unimportant and burdensome. 

Contrasted against the way Asami had told him to go take a nap, Ichigo knew he couldn’t interact with Rukia right now if he wanted whatever their friendship was to remain intact.

_Do it, King. Give her a piece of your mind!_

Ichigo shook his head as he got up and headed for the bar, ignoring Renji’s shout of “Where you goin’?” and Rukia’s huff.

“Green tea, please.” Ichigo said to Tessai.

“Four-hundred-seventy yen.” Tessai replied.

Yeah, Urahara was definitely running an experiment.

 _Probably wants to know the limit on his new gigai._ Shiro observed.

Oh. Shit, Ichigo hadn’t even thought of that: _every_ spirit here was in a gigai. Those gigai could only have come from Urahara, and he was always messing with them in some way or another. No wonder he’d offered to host the event. Although, Ichigo seriously doubted that the only reason the moonshine was free was so that Urahara could determine what it took for a Captain-level gigai to hit the legal blood-alcohol limit.

“Itsugo.” Adult-Nel appeared beside him while he waited for his tea.

“Nelliel.” Ichigo turned to smile at her, blushing when she got on tip-toes to kiss his cheek.

“Come sit with Hollybell and me. We are also waiting for Grimmjow and Asami.” She gave him a sly look that told him she’d been watching him watch the entrance like a hawk.

/////

“Did you just bite my ass?” Asami asked as she stepped down another rung on the ladder into Urahara’s training ground.

“I can’t help it.” Grimmjow grinned and nipped her again. “It’s right there.”

“It wouldn’t be if you gave me some space. I feel like I’m gonna accidently kick you off this thing.”

“If I give you space, everyone below will be able to read ‘Property of Grimmjow’ on your ass. Not to mention," he added after another nip, "the more colorful names.”

Asami stopped climbing down and hooked her arm securely around a rung so that she could shift and look down at Grimmjow with a grateful smile. “You’re kinda sweet, you know that?”

Grimmjow quirked his brows at her. “You think it’s sweet that I’ve claimed your ass as my property?”

“Actually, yes,” Asami laughed, “but that isn’t what I was talking about—you’re preserving my modesty.”

Grimmjow’s cheeks flushed and he looked off to the side for a moment before trying to recover by saying, “Well, you _are_ my property, ain’t’cha? I don’t share what’s mine.”

“No?” She grinned slyly. “What happened to stuffing me full in front of the stuffy Shinigami?”

Grimmjow coughed awkwardly then shrugged. “Yeah, well...not all fantasies are meant for reality.”

Asami reached down and booped his nose but otherwise said nothing as she started climbing down again. But, once Grimmjow was on the ground and Asami was eye-to-eye with him while on the ladder, she deliberately curled her hand around the tie that matched her boat-neck, 1950’s-style dress and pulled him toward her for a very long, sensual kiss that had them both moaning into each other’s mouths.

“I think reality could use a _little_ fantasy, don’t you?” Asami smiled as she wiped her lipstick from Grimmjow’s mouth, which was still hanging slightly open.

Asami left him standing there, supremely pleased with their interaction. She knew Grimmjow often felt powerless because he was so attracted to her—which was the biggest ego-boost of all-time and it made Asami want to giggle like a schoolgirl—but it worked out perfectly because Asami loved being a sub, and letting Grimmjow be her dom was one way she had of giving him power and control in their relationship.

But, sometimes, she loved to test his limits, to wield her power until he couldn’t take it anymore and just...had his wicked way with her.

Asami quickly scanned the room for anyone she’d already met: she definitely didn’t know that group over there with the very tall blond and the very short blonde screaming at each other, while a large, pink-haired man sipped some tea and several others continued whatever they were doing as if there weren’t a death-match about to happen. One of the members—a silver-haired, though youngish-looking, man with a modified mohawk—followed Asami’s every movement with a scowl.

Asami gave him a friendly smile and a wave before continuing her search.

Nope, she definitely didn’t know that strawberry-blonde with a rack the size of watermelons or the _other_ white-haired-yet-young man she was teasing.

Nor did she know the tall, silver-haired-yet-young (again!) woman talking with the blonde with the soft pixie cut and the stupidly-handsome man with the tattoo of...oh shit, ‘69’ on his face. Damn, he was brazen!

“Asami!”

Asami turned toward Nel’s voice and grinned to see her waving excitedly. Asami quickly maneuvered passed some empty tables to get to Nel and give her a hug. Then she turned to Hollybell and said, “Still no hugging?”

“Correct.”

“Hi, Hollybell.” Asami smiled.

“Hello, Asami.” Hollybell nodded with a small smile. It was the first time Asami had seen Hollybell without her collar covering the bottom half of her face.

“And Ichigo!” Asami laughed happily as she gave Ichigo a hug and a kiss on the cheek even though she'd seen him just a couple hours ago. When she pulled back, though, she frowned softly and pressed her thumbs to the bags under Ichigo’s eyes. “No more covering shifts when you’re recovering from your spars with Grimmjow. You’re fucking exhausted. Do you have any vetiver to diffuse tonight?”

Ichigo took both her hands from his face and pressed his lips to her knuckles before he could stop himself. Attempting not to self-combust, he released Asami’s hands and pulled out a chair for her to sit in.

“Yeah, I have some vetiver.” He said.

“And you have a working diffuser?” She asked as she carefully lowered herself into the seat, knowing that the diffuser she’d gotten him for his birthday last year had been broken not too long ago.

“Uh...no.” He plopped down into his seat. “Can’t I just put it on my pillowcase or something?”

“Yeah, that’ll work. But, if you want, you can borrow the one from my treatment room.”

“Thanks.”

“Mm-hmm.” She hummed, sounding more like a moan, as she watched Grimmjow swagger over in his charcoal gray, slim-fit linen suit that accentuated all that muscle he was made of. And he thought _he_ was powerless over his attraction to _her_ —shit, if Asami had half-a-smidge less of self-control, she’d jump him right here and now. She should’ve put him in ski clothes.

Nel let out a loud wolf-whistle and pretended to throw cash at Grimmjow as he walked up to the table. “When’s the show, Blue Panther?”

“For you, young lady? Never.” Grimmjow leaned down to kiss her cheek, then affectionately mussed Hollybell’s hair.

“Fiend.” She scowled, but her own affection was clear as Grimmjow took the seat between her and Ichigo.

Asami smiled at the interaction. When she’d first seen the three Arrancar together, it had been like watching hateful children intentionally set one another off—irksome and off-putting, but also sad and a bit frightening. At the time, Asami hadn’t understood the strength and resilience of the Arrancar, so to watch them fire _bala_ at each other, to swing swords at each other, and the way Grimmjow got so loud and riled up, had led Asami to seek shelter in another room of Las Noches. Not her smartest move—there was more than one Arrancar who was not fond of human women, which Asami now knew stemmed from Orihime.

The same Orihime whom Chad had talked about more than anyone else. The same Orihime that hadn’t been to Karakura since before Asami moved there. Orihime always seemed like a sore subject with Ichigo, so Asami rarely asked about her, but maybe it was time to ask again.

“Don’t look now, Ichigo,” Nel huffed as she looked over Ichigo’s shoulder, “but Miss-Unconfirmed-Intentions is glaring at you.”

“Huh?”

“You know: Rubia.”

“ _No parece como rubia a mi_.” Asami laughed.

 _“¡Aye! ¿Puedes imaginar?_ ” Nel giggled. “ _Con sus ojos morados, parecería como una muñeca._ ”

“You speak Arrancar?” Ichigo looked impressed.

Asami looked confused for a moment before breaking into a wide grin. “Well, it’s remarkably similar to Spanish. You could even call them the same language.”

Ichigo’s eyes widened for a moment and then shut tight while he groaned with embarrassment. “I knew that.”

“I believe you.” Asami mussed his already-very-mussy hair. “You’re exhausted, you get a pass.”

“Rukia never gives me a pass.” He mumbled then his head shot up. “Oh, you’re talking about Rukia.”

“Yeah, her.” Nel waved dismissively. “Keeps lookin’ at you all annoyed. And maybe kinda regretful, whatever,” she tacked on at the end. “Stay here as long as you want, though—I like makin’ faces at her.”

“You guys have a fight?” Grimmjow asked as he leaned back in his chair, arms folded behind his head.

 _That fucker,_ Asami narrowed her eyes at Grimmjow’s taunting little smile, _putting himself on display like that!_

“I...uh...” Ichigo closed his eyes and shook his head. “Yeah, somethin’ like that. And her intentions are not unconfirmed, Nel—we’ve only ever been friends and that’s all we ever need to be.”

“Good, ‘cause I don’t like her. Or the red demon.”

“Why not?” Asami asked, curious since she hadn’t met Rukia or Renji yet, only heard stories. Nel was the first person Asami had met to say anything negative about either of them. Well, except that Jinta thought Renji was a no-good, free-loading food-thief.

“You know about the time Ichigo invaded Hueco Mundo and Grimmjow tried to kill him, yes?”

“Yeah.” Asami laughed at the uncomfortable looks on the men’s faces.

“My _fracción_ and I were helping Ichigo, Uryū, and Chad fight against a guardian of Las Noches when those two,” Nel jerked her head in the direction of Rukia and Renji, “showed up unexpectedly and gave us the advantage we needed to win. When Ichigo saw them, his precious face lit up brightly enough to power Las Noches. But,” Nel’s mouth thinned in anger, “when Ichigo rushed to embrace them, they both slugged him in his face and belittled him for devaluing their friendship by going to Hueco Mundo without them.”

Asami blinked a few times, not quite sure she was following, though she was definitely vibe-ing with Nel’s tone. Asami didn’t often see Ichigo light up the way Nel had described and it both broke her heart and made her blindingly-furious that he got punished for it.

“I don’t understand that last part, Ichigo.” Asami turned to him questioningly.

“Well, I...” He nervously rubbed the back of his head. “The Sōtaicho had just declared Orihime a traitor and commanded Rukia, Renji, and the others to return to the Seireitei to fortify against Aizen.”

Uh, Asami had _not_ heard the part about Orihime being branded a traitor, but she was gonna let it slide for now.

“And they went.” Ichigo shrugged, still sounding a little dazed about it all this time later. “I mean, I knew they wanted to help Orihime. I just...didn’t believe they would defy Seireitei to do it. I should’ve trusted them.” He shrugged again. “And I didn’t. That’s why they punched me.”

“Ichigo,” Asami began, speaking slowly because she didn’t trust herself not to start yelling, “how long after you rescued Rukia from the Seireitei did all this happen?”

“I dunno...few weeks?”

“So,” Asami held up one finger, “you watched Rukia’s brother and her best friend kidnap her from our world and take her back to the Seireitei where they _knew_ she would be put to death. You also,” she held up a second finger, “watched Rukia accept her fate because it was the law of the Seireitei. Then,” a third finger, “you fought your way through the entire-fucking-Shinigami-army, including Renji and Kuchiki-taicho, until you reached Rukia’s execution spot, where her Captain was waiting to watch her die...Do I have it right so far?”

“Ye-yeah.” Ichigo nodded.

“Am I missing any context? Anything that makes it seem less horrible?”

“I, uh...no?”

“So all of that law-abiding, blind-faith-in-The-System bullshit, and you’re supposed to believe that the rules Rukia refused to abandon for herself, that Renji refused to abandon for his best friend, and that Kuchiki-taicho refused to abandon for the sister-in-law he promised his dying wife that he would protect—what? Just didn’t matter to them anymore? That they were gonna abandon those rules for a human they barely knew?”

Ichigo thought about that for a minute before scowling and shaking his head. “But they _did_ abandon those rules. Even Byakuya exploited a loophole.”

“True.” Asami tried so hard to keep her voice neutral. It wasn’t like getting mad so long after the fact was going to help. What would help, though, was helping Ichigo release the notion that he had been a bad friend and _deserved_ to be beaten for it. “And if they claim that it’s because your loyalty and dedication to your friends inspired them, I believe it. Completely. My point, though, is that they hadn’t proven themselves to you before you just watched them follow orders _the same as they always had_. They hadn’t given you a lot of reason to believe that they weren’t going to choose the Seireitei, _like you had watched them do over and over again._

“You had every reason to believe that you, Chad, and Uryū were on your own, and they had no-fucking-right to hit you for it.”

Shit, she had not meant to be so forceful at the end there—Ichigo looked like she’d just hit him with a baseball bat.

“Hey,” she stood up quickly, forgetting about her—ahem—accessory, and the shift almost brought her to her knees. She caught herself with a hand on the table and a hand on Ichigo’s shoulder, steadfastly refusing to look at Grimmjow, who she just knew was being a smug jerk. Okay, one look, because he was fucking sexy when he was smug.

“You okay?” Ichigo asked and immediately started taking her pulse. “Your pulse is kinda fast. Maybe you should sit down.”

“Nah.” Asami declined with a somewhat-frenzied wave of her hand, ignoring Grimmjow’s snort-turned-cough. “Wanna dance?”

“Who, me?” Ichigo asked.

“Yeah, you.”

 _Not me! Then, who?_ Asami couldn’t help but finish in her head, complete with the exaggerated shoulder shrugging with the palms facing up.

“Uh...sure.”

“I hope you’re a good dancer,” Asami said as she led Ichigo to the dancefloor, where a handful of others were dancing, “‘cause I am not.”

“I do alright.” Ichigo shrugged and began moving Asami in a basic square to whatever instrumental piece was playing. “I can’t imagine you being a bad dancer, though. You look good no matter what you’re doing.”

“Even this?” Asami asked, crossing her eyes and pursing her lips so she could flap them like a fish.

“You’ve never looked better.”

“Rude!” She laughed and pinched his cheek.

“That’s the second time tonight.” Ichigo pouted, a little more seriously than he’d meant to. When he’d first arrived tonight, Yoruichi had semi-teasingly pinched his cheek because she thought it was funny, and when he’d smacked her hand away, he’d ended up on her bad-side and the clean-up committee for this stupid party.

Asami gave him an understanding look and said, “I’m sorry I poked a wound, Ichigo. More than one. Please, forgive me?”

“I—” Ichigo began, wondering why he was so taken aback. “You did nothing wrong, Asami.”

“You know, people like to say that, but in most cases, what’s ‘wrong’ depends on the person it happened to. Something can be wrong for _you_ without being objectively wrong. I hurt you, and whether I intended to or not, I bear responsibility for that. Come here,” she waved him down closer to her so she could kiss the cheek she had pinched. “Better?”

“Ye-yeah.” Ichigo looked sharply away from her.

Shit, Asami could see that he was overwhelmed again. It was like no one had ever apologized to him before...that couldn’t be right, right? No, she refused to believe that unless he told her so. It was too depressing of a reality to believe in without proof.

“Where’d you learn to dance, Ichigo?” Asami asked, hoping the answer wasn’t some hidden mine that was about to blow up in her face.

“Uh, Orihime, actually.” He said with a small smile that was quickly followed by a melancholy sigh.

“Well, I just keep stepping in it tonight, don’t I?” Asami looked at him apologetically. “Maybe you should find someone else to talk to? Someone who’s foot isn’t such a good fit for her mouth.”

“I’d rather talk to you,” he said softly, “than talk to just about anyone else here.”

“Well, shucks, aren’t you sweet?” Asami drawled as she put her hand to her heart. Then, a little more seriously, she said, “I’m always here for you to talk to. And I promise not to get as preachy as I did a few minutes ago. I’ll just listen.”

“No, I...I need you point out stuff like that. I need your advice.”

“Let’s call it ‘alternative suggestions’ so it doesn’t sound like I’m telling you what to do.”

“I want you to tell me what to do.” Ichigo replied, and there was something much deeper in those words, something heavy begging for Asami to relieve it.

Oh, Asami knew _exactly_ what Ichigo wanted. She knew the experience of carrying a burden she wasn’t strong enough to handle and just wanting someone to help her. She knew how fucking lonely it felt, how much it fucking hurt to believe that no one wanted to help or _would_ help if asked, and she wanted nothing more than to give Ichigo the relief he was seeking. And to an extent, she could—she could teach him all the mental shifts and breathing techniques and everything else she had learned to help her relieve the burden.

But she also wanted him to have the same experience that she had _now_ , the utter surrender of all her problems, all the thoughts in her head, all of her Self. The complete offloading of the burden she carried, just while she recovered, and the increased strength she got each time that made her burden easier to pick up and carry again.

The only problem was, she wasn’t a switch. She didn’t care for most aspects of being a domme, they didn’t fulfill her the way being a sub did. But...maybe she could try for Ichigo? It wasn’t like she had never topped, or given Grimmjow instructions, but the mindset was totally different.

Asami looked carefully at Ichigo, who was refusing to meet her gaze. But, he also wasn’t retracting his statement. Asami was sure that Ichigo was attracted to Grimmjow—he had ogled Grimmjow’s blatant display of his body in that suit the same way Asami had, and even before tonight, she had seen the looks. She was pretty sure he’d been attracted to Grimmjow before she had even come along. So...maybe he would be satisfied if Grimm told him what to do?

That was an offer she couldn’t make on her own, though. She had to discuss it with Grimmjow first. Plus, she had to figure out what was going on between Ichigo and Orihime, because Asami did not want to mess anything up for Ichigo by inviting him into Grimmjow’s and her bed.

“By all accounts, Ichigo, you don’t follow orders.” Asami locked eyes with him. “So why do you always follow mine?”

“I trust you.” He said without hesitation.

“Why?” She asked quietly, feeling very honored by his statement.

“I’ve never once seen you cover your ass. Actually, it’s like you go out of your way to take responsibility, even when it isn’t yours to take. And everything turns out well for everyone—not just yourself—when you do. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you give a petty order because you’re mad or annoyed with someone, not even my dad.” He shrugged. “I figure if I follow your orders, I’ll end up like you one day.”

Asami smiled brightly up at Ichigo. “You wanna be like me?”

“What? Yeah, of course, I do! You’re smart, you’re kind, you’re thoughtful, you’re fucking strong in ways...ways I wish I could be. You made Grimmjow a better person in less than a year when I’d been trying to do that for four! Why wouldn’t I want to be like you?”

A surge of excited, bubbly emotions swelled within Asami like a tsunami and she threw her arms around Ichigo and squeezed him tightly for several seconds before smiling even more brightly up at him.

“Thank you, Ichigo. That was one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me.”

“I meant it.” He said steadily, though his face was bright red again.

“Gimme a couple days and I’ll...make preparations for you, Ichigo, set up a study schedule. It isn’t going to be easy, you know. I’m thirty-three and I’ve been at this for over a decade. But, unlike you, I didn’t have a guide. I’ll make sure it doesn’t take you as long as it took me.”

“Hey, keep it movin’!” A tall, dark-haired man with even darker sunglasses called out as he barely managed not to crash into them with his partner, a gorgeous pink-haired woman with black lips and tattooed swirls on her cheeks.

When Asami and Ichigo looked around, they noticed that the dancefloor was much more crowded than when they’d begun, and no one was dancing the same dance, or even at the same tempo.

“Uh, I don’t think I’m skilled enough to stay here and not get trampled.” Asami laughed.

“Yeah, me, neither.” Ichigo smiled and put his arm around Asami’s shoulders to keep her safe as they maneuvered passed a group doing the chicken dance and a group doing something that Ichigo would call “nae-nae-but-not-quite-right.”

/////

“Moonshine?” Urahara held out a glass jar to Grimmjow, who was leaning against a pillar and watching Asami dance with Ichigo. “On the house.”

“I don’t drink.”

“Hollows don’t _need_ to eat and drink, but that doesn’t mean they can’t enjoy it.” Urahara jauntily shook the moonshine until it splashed over the sides of the jar.

“I _always_ enjoy human meals because I _always_ eat them off Asami’s body.” Grimmjow stated forcefully enough that even Urahara couldn’t pretend to misunderstand the warning in it. And, even Urahara had the decency to look sheepish—he wasn’t exactly covert about how much he looked at Asami. “I don’t drink _alcohol_.”

Urahara blinked as if he’d just been struck in the head. “...Why not?”

“None of your fuckin’ business. Why are you gettin’ everyone liquored up on that American shit? They know how to fuck shit up when they’re sober, they don’t need any help.”

“Maybe I just wanted everyone to have a good time, loosen up a little.”

“Bullshit.”

“So crass, Mr. Jaegerjacquez.” Urahara tutted from behind his fan. “And so distrusting.”

“You’re as trustworthy as Aizen.” Grimmjow rolled his eyes. “Just ‘cause you’re on the opposite side doesn’t mean your character is any better.”

“Well, that was quite rude.” Urahara’s voice turned steely.

“Oh, did I hurt your feelings?” Grimmjow sneered. “If you don’t like the comparison, question yourself, not me.”

Grimmjow turned back to the dancefloor, staring hungrily at Asami’s calves—there was something about them that always made him want to lick them, beyond the fact that they led up to her thighs. He also caught himself wanting to run his tongue all over Ichigo. The ginger was in a pair of midnight blue slacks that, for once, weren’t sprayed onto his legs but still fit like a second-skin. The matching dress shirt showcased Ichigo’s lean build but left no question that he could do some real damage if he were so inclined.

It was still weird for Grimmjow, checking out Ichigo. Ichigo was the only man Grimmjow had ever been attracted to, and it wasn’t until Asami came around that he’d been willing to accept that. Well, he was pretty sure that if Ichigo had ever approached him sexually, he probably wouldn’t have turned the kid down. He just wouldn’t have been as comfortable and confident as he was now. It was too bad Ichigo was so rattled by any kind of talk about sex or even romance.

Although...

Grimmjow recognized that look on Asami’s face. The curiosity, the way her head tilted like she was trying to get whatever idea was rolling around in there into the hole with the most points, and the way her eyes were glittering like she’d just figured it out. Combined with the way Ichigo looked at Asami like...like she was the safe harbor _and_ the storm...yeah, Grimmjow knew that look.

And then Asami broke into a blinding smile.

“They look cozy.” Urahara twittered and flitted his fan. “Trouble in paradise?”

Grimmjow slowly turned his head to look down at Urahara, a sharp, predatory grin on his face. “I know you were watchin’ as we came in, candy man. Did that look like trouble in paradise to you?”

This was, hands down, one of the most valuable lessons Asami had taught Grimmjow. After years of feeling powerless and uncertain around Urahara and his mystique, he had watched Asami turn Urahara’s own technique against him. Where Urahara used vagueness and vagaries to throw people off-kilter so that they did whatever he told them to because they didn’t know how to counter him, Asami was direct and unambiguous, always made eye contact, and always asked a clarifying question that backed Urahara into a corner, leaving him with responses that could only undermine whatever his purpose was.

Urahara often found it amusing when Asami did it, but he was clearly vexed that Grimmjow had picked up the skill. And, Grimmjow was willing to bet, that fan was hiding a bit of fluster, too. A ‘no’ to Grimmjow’s question would not only make Urahara look petty and dumb for asking the question in the first place, but would also make Grimmjow look good, and a ‘yes’ would make Urahara look bad in bed.

“Two drink minimum per person, Mr. Jaegerjacquez.” Urahara said sharply before turning on his heel and booking it out of there.

Gods, he loved Asami.

“ITSUGO!”

Grimmjow’s gut lurched as Ichigo nearly didn’t release Asami in time to prevent taking her with him when the little, teal projectile slammed him into the floor.

 _Fuck this fucking slow-ass gigai!_ Grimmjow raged as he ran toward the group, somehow managing not to shout.

“Nel!” Ichigo wheezed. “Nel, let go of my throat!”

“I missed you, Itsugo!” Little-Nel wailed.

“Nel,” Asami crouched down, and Grimmjow barely caught the beginnings of a whimper. She cleared her throat and stiffly said, “Please, let go of Ichigo. You’re hurting him.”

“Oh!” Nel leapt off of Ichigo, who immediately began sucking in air and rubbing at his neck. “I can fix you, Itsugo!”

“NO!” He yelled just as Nel began to retch.

“You yelled at me!” Nel cried pitifully, saliva dripping out the side of her mouth.

“For fuck’s sake, Neliel,” Grimmjow growled as Hollybell lifted her off of Ichigo, “you are a grown-ass woman. Act like it.”

“You’re so me-e-e-ean!” She wept.

“YO!” Grimmjow shouted loud enough to get most of the Shinigamis’ attention. “Find her fucking armband!”

“Fuck you!” Ikkaku slurred, barely upright and only because of Yumichika. “Why should we?”

“You wanna listen to a cryin’ kid the rest of the night?” Grimmjow shoved Ikkaku’s shoulder. “Be my guest.”

“Noooo!” Nel wailed. “I don’t wanna go with the scary baldy!”

“I am not bald!” Ikkaku shouted. “And at least I ain’t wearing a wig like this loser!”

“You wish, cue ball.” Grimmjow flipped him off.

“Grimm?”

Grimmjow barely heard Asami’s strained voice over Ikkaku’s crazed shouting, but she had tugged on his pantleg to get his attention. When he looked down, she was biting her lip embarrassedly but also laughing at herself. She held out her hand and mouthed, “I need help getting up.”

Grimmjow couldn’t stop his laughter as he took her hand in his and let her pull herself up at her own pace. When she just had a little bit more to go, Grimmjow gave a firm tug that pulled her straight up and into his body and made her squeak. If anyone else had heard it, they hadn’t guessed that it had to do with anything more than surprise.

Grimmjow lowered his mouth to Asami’s ear and whispered, “I know _exactly_ which sound I want you to make tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, before I get any hate-mail, just because the characters say it doesn't mean I agree with them! I know some controversial things were mentioned in this chapter, and fair warning, things will get worse in the next chapter. It's just how this story is unfolding for me. Although, I do totally agree with Nel's and Asami's assessment of what happened in Hueco Mundo.


	3. After the Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens when Asami's darkside is let loose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't mean for this chapter to take so damn long to post, but I just kept writing and writing, and nothing flowed together the way I needed it to...so I skipped the second-half of the party and went straight to the aftermath. Maybe one day I'll get the second-half to work the way I want so that you'll be able to "see" everything alluded to in this chapter, but...let's not hold our breaths. 
> 
> This chapter isn't quite what I wanted it to be, but it'll do for now.

As Grimmjow stepped out of the _Garganta_ and onto the front walkway of his and Asami’s house, he could barely stand still enough to open the door for her. His plans to tease her senseless had gone out the window about ten minutes ago when she unleashed the most ruthless comeback on Kuchiki Byakuya that Grimmjow—and, judging by their stunned, impressed, and horrified looks, everyone else present—had ever heard.

And she had done it to defend Grimmjow.

He could barely keep his smile contained, but he was pretty sure everyone could tell just how fucking giddy he was. He had a partner who believed in his honor so much that she would stand up to someone who she had no chance of winning against in a fight—which, yes, he had experienced some fear and anger at her for putting herself in harm’s way, but he’d gotten over it pretty quickly when it became apparent that he also had a partner who was so powerful in her own way that she didn’t need to so much as make a fist to obliterate her opponent.

Grimmjow figured his dopey grin was probably why Rukia had, in her poor and drunken judgment, taken a swing at Asami while yelling at her for defending “a monster.” That, and she was defending her brother when he clearly had no recourse—it wasn’t like someone like him could retaliate against a human. Rukia, though, didn’t handle her liquor well, and Urahara had definitely done something to everyone’s gigai, so despite being a Captain, one hit on the chin from Asami’s well-trained fist had put her on the floor.

That was when Urahara had pushed Grimmjow from his gigai before Rukia even hit the floor, then commanded him to make a _Garganta,_ and then rushed Grimmjow and Asami through it, as well as Hollybell and Nel, who were accompanied by Ichigo and Uryū.

It was also when Grimmjow’s pants had gotten so tight that even he considered himself indecent.

Unfortunately, Grimmjow was going to have to get a hold of his elation in order to help Asami out of her crisis. What she needed from him when she was this upset wasn’t about fun or even pleasure. Rather, it was about control and power, submission and surrender. Tonight, he was going to have to channel some of that “old Grimmjow.”

/////

Asami was spiraling out of control, expanding beyond her capacity to support, like a supernova threatening to tear her apart from the inside out.

It cost Asami a lot to confront anyone the way she had confronted the two Kuchiki tonight. She prided herself on being able to defuse situations and find win-win solutions, but the moment that Kuchiki Byakuya not only accused Grimmjow of the worst crime Asami could think of, but also called him an “ill-bred alley cat who was unwanted even by his own deranged creator,” Asami’s carefully-cultivated identity was eclipsed by her dark-side. All of her patience, compassion, and tolerance were used up instantly, leaving her with a deficit that just kept growing.

“The fucking nerve of them! All of them!” She slammed her palm against the dresser in their bedroom. “Accusing _you_ of raping a child!”

Grimmjow blanched at her bluntness, which just made her angrier.

“See?! You can’t even _hear_ the words without recoiling, let alone do the actions! I don’t care what kind of arm-impaling psychopath you used to be, there is a fucking difference between that and sexually abusing a kid!”

She kicked the dresser this time, and if they hadn’t purposefully bought very sturdy furniture, it would have splintered.

“As if Nel’s _fracción_ wouldn’t have died trying to stop you! And those fucking Kuchiki!” Asami shouted.

Asami’s lungs burned and pushed against her ribcage, her stomach roiled, and her knees shook. Her vision was blurring, her head light and dizzy, and her thoughts were all over the place.

“I hope they get reincarnated as fucking fleas! And you!”

Grimmjow remained where he was, no flinching, no withdrawing, but his jaw did tense a little, like he was nervous about what she had to say to him.

“You never told me Nel was a masochist!”

“Is...that important?”

“Yes, it’s important! If Nel is _Número Trés_ , and you’re _Número Seis_ , and Nel is a masochist, then that means you never had to hold back with her! It means she was a fucking challenge for you, someone who made you stronger! What the fuck am I?” Asami’s arms flailed everywhere as she shouted, her voice more and more frantic with each syllable. “I’m the frail-fucking-human with the ugly, fragile body who makes you suppress yourself! I make you weaker!”

Grimmjow had her pinned, face against the wall, before she even finished her sentence. His hand was on the back of her neck, preventing her from moving in any way that displeased him.

Asami instantly felt a portion of her supernova disperse from her body. There was still plenty of pressure and stretching and, although it was a lot to handle, at least it was no longer threatening her limits.

She moaned and melted under Grimmjow’s confident, commanding touch. Just knowing that he was in charge, knowing she could trust him not to disappear on her, not to leave her hanging, relieved a great deal of her anxiety.

“First of all,” Grimmjow purred angrily into her ear as he pressed his hard-on against her ass, “if you bad-mouth your body again, I’m going to take you back to that fucking party—”

Asami’s heart instantly thumped twice as fast as before and she made a frightened, pleading sound.

“—I’m going to rip your dress off,” Grimmjow continued, though he acknowledged her objection by rubbing her earlobe between his fingers, “and I’m going to let every goddam Shinigami who imagined you naked tonight cum all over their favorite parts of you.”

Asami flushed across her entire body with a unique blend of excitement, embarrassment, and aversion. Neither she nor Grimmjow had ever expressed an interest in a scene like the one he’d just described—certainly not with Shinigami—and she was sure neither of them would actually go through with such a scene, but there was a certain appeal to it...as long as Grimmjow was in charge.

“That isn’t an idle threat, Asami.” Grimmjow nipped her ear hard enough to make her whimper in pain and without an ounce of pleasure. His use of her true name told her that this wasn’t part of their play. “That isn’t a goddamn fantasy. I’m getting fuckin’ tired of the way you talk about yourself and I will do whatever it takes to get you to see yourself like I do. Even if it means letting other people defile you. Got it?”

Asami’s spine straightened at the snarl in his voice, her survival instincts finally taking over and telling her to shut up and be a good girl.

“Ye...yes, Sir.”

Grimmjow nuzzled her neck for a second to acknowledge her obedience, then carefully slammed his body against hers, knocking the air from her lungs, and staying there, so she couldn’t get it back. Then he said something in a voice with more Hollow than he had ever used before. “If you make me watch that, there will be _hell_ to pay.”

Asami cried out as her entire body shook with wave after wave of fearful, painful arousal. Her head flooded with a confusing cocktail of chemicals, some that were trying to make her run or fight back, and others that wanted her to give up, give herself over to Grimmjow and let him do anything he wanted to her.

Just as her knees failed her, she made the choice to breathe out the very last of her air with a small whimper of submission and let Grimmjow crush her even further, let him overwhelm her...let him stop her from falling. Her lungs burned and her heart hammered against her chest and her brain screamed at her to stop being such a dumbass and just tap out.

But she didn’t listen to her body or to her brain. She listened to her soul, and held out just a little bit longer until the peace of knowing that she had no control over this situation washed over her like a wave. She could just let go and not worry about anything, not stress about what happened at the party, or wonder if Ichigo was okay, or agonize over how she was going to fix everything.

Grimmjow was in charge.

Everything would be okay...everything already was okay.

A quick sting across her ass brought her back to reality and she realized that she was naked and face down on the bed with her arms tied behind her back.

“Did I scare you senseless, Asami?” Grimmjow asked as if he were taunting her, but, again, his use of her real name told Asami that he was worried about her and was considering ending the scene.

“Sorry to disappoint you, Sir.” Asami sassed back, though it was undermined by how hoarse her voice was. She _was_ sorry, though: sorry that she’d worried him, sorry that he wasn’t getting to play out the scene he had clearly been planning since before she’d even come home and reminded him that they were going to Urahara’s tonight. “Please, allow me to make it up to you.”

Grimmjow snapped a length of rope across her thighs and said, “Oh, you’re gonna make it up to me, slut.” Grimmjow snapped the rope against her even harder. “You came without my permission again.”

Instantly, Asami’s head began to swim and she found herself floating on the waters of her complete submission. She didn’t resist as Grimmjow tied her up in a modified leapfrog-pose with her forearms bound together behind her back and her hands grasping her elbows. The way he’d joined the ropes prevented her from moving more than a few centimeters within her confines. She’d rarely felt safer.

Asami breathed easier—literally and metaphorically—when Grimmjow placed her head on one of her extra face cradles, giving her a pillow that made the position more ergonomic and also allowed her to breathe without either of them having to hold her head up.

“Fuck, you look good like this.” Grimmjow growled from behind Asami as he dug his fingers into her hips until she whimpered. He fucking loved the way her curves looked in this position—the dip of her waist, the swell of her hips, the slope of her back. “Gonna look even better with my cock in your ass.”

“Oh...please!” Asami whined. She needed him inside her so. bad. She needed him to control her, make her scream, to fuck the stress right out of her.

So fast that it made her head spin, Grimmjow was draped over her with his hand wrapped tightly enough around her neck that her vision was already starting to spot around the edges, and the bone of his Hollow mask scraped against her cheek.

“My filthy little whore,” Grimmjow cooed creepily as he scraped his teeth across Asami’s ear. “You want my cock; I want something in return.”

“Anything.” Asami said breathily, her vision more black than anything.

“I want to know how fucking good you feel. Don’t you dare hold back.”

“Mm-hmm!” Asami hummed just before she almost passed out.

Grimmjow released the pressure on Asami’s neck and watched as the shock of regaining full-consciousness coursed through Asami and gave her a small, but clearly intense, orgasm.

Grimmjow was embarrassed to admit it, but he hadn’t known hardly anything about the female orgasm before Asami. Nel had liked it when he left her hanging, and Hollybell had always preferred her own fingers. The few others he’d been with over however many centuries, well...they probably didn’t have a lot of good to say about him.

Hell, he’d hardly known anything about the male orgasm, either, except how to give himself one, or use another’s body to get one. Grimmjow shuddered to think of how he would have treated Ichigo during a sexual encounter. He would have tried to make the stupidly-handsome idiot feel good, but...Grimmjow was pretty sure he would’ve failed.

Thank the gods for Asami...well, Asami’s obsessive research into ancient sexual practices.

Even though Asami called the different orgasms by the names of physical places—typically (though not exclusively) clitoral, cervical, and g-spot for her own, and prostatic, penile, and testicular for his—it wasn’t strictly necessary for any of those locations to be physically stimulated in order to produce an orgasm with the same “energy signature.” That was why he could make Asami cum with just his words and the tone of his voice, or by controlling the flow of blood to her brain, or even with his cock down her throat.

Grimmjow was all about maximum results for his efforts, though, and the most spectacular orgasms nearly-always came about with a combination of mental, spiritual, and physical stimulation. With that in mind, Grimmjow made sure Asami was in a comfortable position before going to the nightstand and removing the MCT oil from the top drawer. Just as he was popping the little spout onto the jar, he smelled it: salt and copper.

Asami didn’t realize that her lip was starting to bleed with how hard she was biting it. When Grimmjow had released her, stepped away from her completely, she had instantly felt lost and alone. Adrift in a sea of anxiety and fear and, combined with the lightheadedness from the compression of her carotid arteries, she had begun to cry. Silently, of course, because she didn’t want to freak out Grimmjow. She had forgotten that he could smell her tears.

Barely a second after her first tear fell, Grimmjow was next to her, one arm around her shoulders while the other supported him on the mattress.

“What’s your color?”

“Gr...green.” Asami sniffed.

“Then why are you crying?” Grimmjow asked, sounding like he’d been punched in the gut. Crying was not part of their game, not like this, anyway. Several types of orgasms always made Asami cry, and sometimes crying was just how she released tension in general, but this crying was different.

“Don’t...” Asami took a shaky breath and blinked some more tears from her eyes as she looked at Grimmjow’s fretful features. “Don’t let go again. Please.”

“Let g—?” Grimmjow began, confused, then stopped short as her meaning dawned on him. He shut his eyes and took a couple deep breaths before settling back into his former role by sliding his long arms around Asami’s torso and roughly grabbing both her breasts. “Let go? My hands are gonna know every inch of you tonight, slut. You know why?”

Asami did know why but she wanted to hear Grimmjow say it first. Unfortunately for her, he wanted _her_ to say it first.

“Answer me.” He snarled as he slapped her nearest thigh.

“Oh!” She squeaked and dropped her head down into the face cradle, where she took several moments to breathe through the pain, then the oddly-pleasurable warmth that followed. “Because...because I belong to you.”

“Good girl.” Grimmjow nuzzled her neck for a moment. “You belong to me. You’re _mine_. Why?”

This time, Asami answered immediately, happily. “Because you’re my King.”

Grimmjow used to think that he knew what it meant to be a king: power, authority, respect. Fear. He had wanted nothing more than to be King of Hueco Mundo, but then Aizen was gone and Grimmjow had realized that his desire to be a king wasn’t so much about being in charge _himself_ as it was about not allowing Aizen, or any other fucking Shinigami, to be in charge. So he’d left the ruling up to Starrk and Hollybell without much fuss as long as whatever they asked him to do didn’t interfere with his spars with Ichigo.

Then Asami had shown up like a full-fledged Queen and Grimmjow had realized that he had never understood what it meant to be King. It wasn’t about having the power and authority to make Asami do what he wanted her to do. It wasn’t about making Asami give up her own authority and submit to his. And it definitely wasn’t about fear.

It was about having the power to provide for her. Not just “the basics,” like this house, or her food or her clothes—most of which she provided for herself, anyway—but also providing intellectual, emotional, and spiritual nourishment. It was about respecting what she wanted and not just what he wanted to give her. It was about protecting her, even from himself, and especially from _her_ self.

Asami was so fucking mean to herself sometimes, and it cut Grimmjow up inside. Most days, she had the confidence of a true Queen, but, sometimes—like a few minutes ago—she said shit about herself that Grimmjow would disembowel someone else for saying about her. It would kill him to follow through on what he’d promised to do, but he would do it if it meant she would finally understand that she was valued exactly as she was. Not just for her body, either—the moment she stood up against Kuchiki, more than a few beings who had ignored her presence the whole night had looked at her like she was a unicorn.

“I _am_ your King.” He purred before licking a stripe across her shoulder. “And tonight, you’re my fucking-throne. And I’m gonna take my throne over...and over....and over, again.”

“Godssss, yeeees!”

Grimmjow stood up and positioned Asami a little closer to the edge of the bed, her ankles hanging off the edge. As he thumped his cock between Asami’s cheeks and poured oil over it, he couldn’t help the little tinge of disappointment that the oil and sweat were going to wash away the things he had written. Not everything was “Property of Grimmjow” or “Tonight” next to an arrow pointing at her asshole.

Some of it was hearts around cute little moles or dimples. Some of it was smiley faces with heart eyes. Some of it was “I love you.”

They had told each other “I love you” before, of course. But, Asami preferred for them to tell each other, “I like you.” She’d told him that as long as they could honestly say that to one another, they would be in good shape. Maybe Grimmjow had bought in to the stupid movies and manga that Asami and Ichigo consumed, but he kind of liked saying “I love you.” It felt...grander, heavier, more substantial. But Asami still winced a little every time he said it, and it was the one thing he’d asked her about that she still wouldn’t give him a straight answer to.

Grimmjow shook the thoughts from his head and thumped his cock against Asami again. This time, he hit the jewel of the anal plug, which reminded him that he hadn’t taken it out yet. He debated on just yanking it out at once, surprising her, but the last time they’d tried that, she’d gotten injured. Mildly, but enough that Grimmjow didn’t want to do it again.

“Relax.” He cooed and gave one of her cheeks a good shake.

Asami moaned as the plug came right out a few seconds later.

Grimmjow tossed the plug into the plastic box labeled “dirty” under the bed then turned back to Asami. Gods, he could look at her and her gaping ass forever. Not just for the obvious reasons, either.

It sort of freaked him out how much Asami trusted him with the parts—physical and metaphorical—of herself that she was ashamed of. The most tender, sensitive parts, the parts that she ignored when she could, and abused herself for having when she couldn’t.

She trusted him not to abuse her, too.

She trusted him to make it impossible for her to ignore those parts any longer, not because the pain was too much, but because the pleasure was.

Grimmjow could see the change in Asami every time she was this vulnerable with him, had been watching her cumulative change over the year they’d been together. He didn’t understand it, but vulnerability was her strength. More specifically, it was the thing that made her strong. It was what made her stronger than Grimmjow, or Ichigo, or Kuchiki, or even Kenpachi. It was the reason that she made Grimmjow stronger than Nel ever had.

Grimmjow knew that Asami was aware of this to some degree—why else would she continue doing it, if she weren’t?—but he was going to make her completely aware of it tonight.

“Time to get loud, my Queen.” Grimmjow rumbled lowly as he began to push inside her. Grimmjow’s absolute favorite part of anal sex with Asami was the overwhelmed flavor of her moans.

Asami didn’t disappoint.

/////

“I’m fine, Dad!” Ichigo pushed his hovering father away for the billionth time in the last ten minutes.

“ _I’m_ the doctor!” Isshin said in frustration born of concern. “I’ll tell you when you’re fine!”

“Kurosaki-sensei,” Uryū said deferentially, ”will you explain your concussion protocol to me? I know it’s always the same basic things, but everyone has their own spin on it.”

Isshin reluctantly went to Uryū and Hollybell at the dining table, leaving Nel and Ichigo alone on the couch, only because Karin and Yuzu were out for the evening. Otherwise, they’d be clinging to him more than Isshin was.

“You will be fully recovered in a few more minutes.” Adult-Nel said apologetically, then gave Ichigo a small bow. “I’m so sorry, again.”

After Ichigo had puked his guts up on the dance floor, Little-Nel had tried to heal him, only to be rebuffed by Uryū. Asami had provided a salve with a ten percent solution of Nel’s saliva, and while it had taken the edge off the concussion, it hadn’t healed it. Now that Nel was an adult, Uryū had allowed her to use her healing saliva on Ichigo and he was already feeling much, much better.

“I already forgave you, Nel.” Ichigo said softly.

“For giving you a concussion, yes.” Nel nodded. “This time, I am apologizing for the trouble I caused with Rukia and Kuchiki-taicho.”

Ichigo didn’t quite manage to hold back his groan.

Tonight had been a disaster. The only reason no one had died was because Asami was human and no Shinigami would kill a human...no Shinigami who had been present at the party, anyway. Not to mention that Asami had some damn-powerful protectors against anyone who would try to do her harm. Ichigo was pretty sure that Hollybell had been prepared to rip Byakuya’s gigai limb from limb if he’d made one false move.

And Rukia...fuck. Ichigo didn’t know what to do. He’d been so out of it from the concussion that he’d missed most of the confrontation, but it had been impossible to miss Asami’s fist connecting with Rukia’s face. Ichigo was pretty sure that sound was going to reverberate in his head for eternity...and not just because Shiro kept replaying it while cackling gleefully.

There was no freakin’ way Rukia was going to let this go. There was no freakin’ way she wasn’t going to take this out on Ichigo.

“That’s...not really your fault, Nel.” Ichigo said wearily. “They’ve always hated Grimm. They would have jumped on any excuse to ban him to Hueco Mundo permanently...or just kill him on the spot.”

“Yes, but _I_ gave them the excuse they needed.” She dropped her head in shame, but just for a moment. “Asami saved my ass, though.”

Nel grinned at Ichigo, who couldn’t help but laugh.

“I’m surprised Byakuya didn’t explode.”

“I’m afraid Rukia is going to.” Nel said, serious again. “And that you’re going to take the brunt of it.”

Ichigo sighed wearily again and got more comfortable on the couch. He wasn’t feeling any effects from the concussion anymore, except that he was tired. But, he’d been tired before the concussion, so he didn’t count that as a sign of anything bad.

Nel crawled onto the couch, too, curling up against his side. She rested her head on his chest and wrapped her arms around him.

“I’m worried she’s going to drive Orihime further away from you.”

“ _What?”_

“Don’t tell me you haven’t wondered, Ichigo.” Nel admonished softly. “She left soon after you and Grimmjow began sparring. We both know she is in no danger from Grimmjow. He feels eternally indebted to her, in fact. So she didn’t leave because she was afraid of him.”

“You’re saying...you think that...Rukia?”

“I’m saying, it’s possible. I have no proof, other than her own admission that they take tea on the same days that you and Grimmjow spar.” She said with a bit of steel in her voice.

Well...fuck.

Ichigo hadn’t even considered that possibility. Mostly because he didn’t think Rukia was _that_ passive-aggressive. Or that cruel. No, Rukia was a lot of things, but intentionally-cruel wasn’t one of them. She wouldn’t have encouraged Orihime to move to Kyoto just to hurt Ichigo, especially after he’d confided in Rukia that he was crushin’ hard on Orihime.

“I know she’s not your favorite person, Nel. But I’m positive Rukia didn’t send Orihime to Kyoto to spite me.”

“Maybe not. But what is she going to do now that Asami has called Kuchiki-taicho an ‘inbred, stuck-up lapdog who thinks he’s an alpha but is really just the Seireitei’s best-dressed bitch’?”

At the dining room table, Isshin was struggling to breathe, pounding on the table with his fist like it was somehow going to get the water out of his lungs.

/////

Asami moaned quietly as she and Grimmjow sank into the warm water of their tub. The soothing scent of chamomile filled the air and she was already slipping towards sleep. She wriggled against Grimmjow to get more comfortable, only for him to wrap his limbs tightly around her.

“Keep moving like that and this bath ain’t gonna be so relaxing.” He teased as he rubbed his nose against her jaw.

“Mmm.” She hummed sleepily, only half-aware of what was going on. It had been five hours since they got home and their activities were catching up with her. “Sleep first.”

Grimmjow released her and began pouring water over her with a cup, wetting her shoulders as they waited for the water to rise high enough to cover her up to her neck—the one requirement she’d had when they’d purchased this tub. Then he began tracing his fingers up and down Asami’s arms, across her back, her head, her legs.

“You’re so good to me.” Asami yawned then turned her head to kiss Grimmjow’s arm.

“Ssh. Go to sleep.” He whispered.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” She sassed back with a sleepy grin.

Asami was asleep before Grimmjow’s laugh stopped echoing around the tiled bathroom.

Grimmjow usually preferred for Asami to be awake during aftercare because she always made the cutest sounds when he kissed her, or played with her hair, or just wrapped himself around her like a koala bear. But she had required _a lot_ more than usual tonight, and a lot...darker than usual, so Grimmjow was glad that she was sleeping now. He just wanted her to be at peace.

So, even though she was asleep, Grimmjow gave her the aftercare that was proportionate to their play: he bathed her, he massaged her from head to toe, and he cuddled with her on their fresh sheets. He was nearly asleep himself when Asami’s eyes cracked open.

“Not long enough, Sunshine.” Grimmjow kissed her forehead. “Go back to sleep.”

He could tell, though, that she had something on her mind.

“Hey, Grimm?”

“Hey, what?”

“Would you be mad if I apologized to Kuchiki-taicho?”

What the fuck? Apologize to that asshole? Apologize for defending _him,_ Grimmjow? Fuck yeah, he would be mad!

“Apologize for what?” He pouted. “Telling the truth?”

“Did I, though?” Asami caressed his face. “Maybe it _was_ the truth, at some point. But, is it now? Is what I said to him any better than what he said to you? He dishonored your journey and I dishonored his. You’re both changed men, Grimm.”

“So let _him_ apologize first.” Grimmjow pouted even harder. He fuckin’ hated how benevolent she was sometimes.

“You know that’s not my philosophy.” She smiled, then teased, “And you know that he doesn’t have anyone as awesome as me to help him see reason.”

“What reason?” Grimmjow scoffed. “Is it reasonable to smash your opponent and then tell him you fuckin’ feel bad about it? That you wanna take it back? Maybe you dishonored him, Asami, but you fuckin’ honored _me_. You wanna take that back, too?”

Asami’s eyebrows pinched together the same way that had earlier tonight while she’d been talking to Ichigo, in that way that they always did when she was considering something difficult.

Grimmjow could practically watch her inner battle take place as her face and body tensed and untensed, as she huffed softly and made strange faces as she argued with herself. He was surprised that it didn’t take her very long to relax back into her body, not in a weary, giving-up kind of way, but a contented, accepting kind of way.

“No, I definitely don’t want to take that back.” She leaned in for a kiss to seal her statement. “I would never take that back.”

Grimmjow kissed her again, then again, then again. He wanted to be inside her again, but he knew she needed to recover more...maybe some of Nel’s salve...

_No, stop it, Jaegerjacques!_

Asami laughed happily against Grimmjow’s mouth and, when he pulled back to give her a quizzical look, she said, “Thank you for restraining yourself so I didn’t have to.”

“Maybe if you weren’t so fuckin’ perfect, I wouldn’t have to restrain myself.”

“Better to want each other too much than not enough.”

“Yeah, that’s definitely not our problem.” He grinned. “Maybe bringing in some extras to curb your insatiable lust isn’t such a bad idea.”

Asami frowned as she traced Grimmjow’s features.

“What?” Grimmjow asked as he gently bit one of her fingers. “You upset about what I said earlier? Takin' you back to the party?”

“Huh? No.” She said slowly. “Is...I mean...”

“Spit it out, Sunshine.”

“Is Ichigo a fantasy not meant for reality?”

“What?”

“Like you said earlier: not all fantasies are meant for reality.”

“Ichigo...is, as always, the exception.”

“Would you be more comfortable if I bowed out?”

“Huh?”

“Grimm, Ichigo fucking needs... _this_.” She gestured between herself and Grimmjow. “He needs to know he’s not weird, or perverted, or _weak_ for needing what he needs. And he needs to sub. I’m sure of it. That means it isn’t necessary for me to be a part of his journey...his journey with you.”

“Don’t be stupid, Asami.” Grimmjow kissed the top of her head. “Without you, that’s a journey neither of us would ever take.”

“Why not?”

Grimmjow shrugged. “Not quite worth it, I guess. We would never be vulnerable enough with each other. Too much friction." He chuckled against her neck. "We need you to be our lubricant."

"You are ridiculous!" Asami burst out laughing, too, which drew more laughter from Grimmjow until they were both giggling in that delirious way that well-sexed, sleep-deprived people do.

"Besides," Grimmjow yawned, "Orihime’s in love with him, and I owe her...well, my life, pretty much. Ain’t gonna encroach on her territory ‘less her territory comes to me, first.”

Asami’s eyebrows pinched together again and Grimmjow watched them with amusement.

“Orihime’s in love with him?”

“Head over heels, long as I’ve known them. Took Ichigo long enough to figure it out, even longer to figure out he was, too.”

“Do you think we’ll be ruining something for them by inviting Ichigo to join us?”

“No.”

“...Uh, elaborate, please.”

Grimmjow thought it was obvious, especially for someone as intuitive as Asami, but he sighed and said, “Whatever they _had_ is gone. If they want something that lasts, they’re gonna have to base it on more than a teenage crush.”

Asami smiled goofily, a sure sign that she was tired again. “You’re so much smarter than you look.”

Grimmjow’s fingers found her ribs in the blink of an eye and had her laughing and writhing like a hyena in no time.

“This is...no...agh, way!...to treat your...Queen!” She squealed.

“Royalty must be held to a higher standard.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why the Kuchiki siblings are taking such a beating in this story, but that's just how it's unfolding. I'm planning for things to resolve for the best, though.
> 
> Critiques and kudos are greatly appreciated!


	4. The Approach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asami can't leave Ichigo alone any longer...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, Shade777 (Heather) for all your encouraging words!

Ichigo could barely look at Asami, let alone maintain eye contact. He had, through no fault of his own, caught a glimpse of her ass at the party almost a week ago and he hadn’t been able to get it out of his head. Not just her ass itself, which was sexy enough, but all the things Grimmjow had written on it. Okay, so Ichigo had been concussed and seeing double-vision at the time, so he hadn’t seen all the things Grimmjow had written, but he’d seen enough.

 _“Enough to know that Asami isn’t the fun master,”_ Shiro grinned hungrily, _“Grimmjow is.”_

And while none of that had been his fault, all the scenes that ran through his head as a result? All the ways he’d touched himself? Repeatedly, his fault.

Being too embarrassed—ashamed, even—to interact with Asami? Definitely his fault.

He had been avoiding her as much as possible for the last two days and, oddly, she had been letting him. Except to ask him about his concussion when he came in to work on Tuesday, she hadn’t been anything more than neutral toward him. Even though he didn’t want to interact with her because he couldn’t keep his head out of the gutter when she fluttered her eyelashes at him, he wanted her to want to interact with him.

He couldn’t lose her, too.

Ichigo hadn’t heard from Rukia or Renji since the party five days ago, where he had realized while listening to some banter between the two that Rukia thought he, Ichigo, wasn’t worth her time anymore. She hadn’t said that, of course, but she had flippantly told Renji that, “If you needed me to take care of you, you wouldn’t be worth my time.”

It had struck Ichigo that Rukia had stopped coming around when he had started setting boundaries, started asking for the things that he needed. When he’d started trying to make his life more bearable. The fact that Rukia found him worthless now that he didn’t conform to her every whim was...fucking heartbreaking.

On top of that, today, he had been unable to refuse the little old lady who didn’t have the courage to tell her family that she was dying when she asked him to tell her family for her. He had also listened to his dad lecture him about becoming a nurse practitioner or a physician’s assistant instead of remaining a nurse for his entire career, even though Ichigo had no desire to take on any more responsibility with patients than he already did.

And now...fuck, now he was getting chewed out by a patient’s son for supposedly fucking up an IV. Ichigo just wanted to shout, or cry, or run away, or all of the above. He couldn’t do any of those things, though, so he lamely stood there, his shoulders rounded and his head bowed as though the weight he felt were truly upon his shoulders.

He needed Asami more than ever to help him feel grounded but he had alienated—

“Sir, stop talking.” Asami stepped between the stupid son and Ichigo. “Nurse Kurosaki will place another IV for your mother and you will be silent while he does.”

Ichigo thought he might burst into tears.

“Who the hell are you?” The man demanded.

“Hotaru...” Croaked Ikeda-san, a woman in her sixties who was admitted for heat-stroke-like symptoms.

“I’m the clinic manager who saw you fiddling with that IV and I know it popped out on _your_ watch. I understand that this is a tense time for you and your mother and it is also not an excuse for you to abuse my staff.” She gave him a particular “I dare you” glare that Ichigo would classify as distinctly American, then pleasantly asked, “Would you like me to get you some water while you wait?”

“You can’t—I wasn’t—!” he spluttered. “I was trying to stop the IV that the dumb kid—.”

“Listen to me, sir.” Asami spoke calmly but with an unmistakably menacing undertone. “If you insult Nurse Kurosaki again, I will literally kick your ungrateful ass into the street and you can fucking wait there until Ikeda-san is discharged. Kurosaki-sensei will be with your mother when he’s done with his current patient.”

Once he had recovered from his shock at Asami’s language, Hotaru-san opened his mouth for another outburst, then stopped short and looked nervously over to the drawn curtain that Isshin was behind.

“Oh, good, you noticed.” Asami feigned relief. “Lest you get the wrong idea, however, _your_ complete lack of decorum with Kurosaki-sensei’s son will in no way affect _his_ decorum and professionalism toward your mother.” Asami took a deep breath and relaxed into her body before looking at Ikeda-san. “In fact, I would like to offer you a foot massage, Ikeda-san. Free of charge.”

Things went quite smoothly after that. Hotaru even apologized to Asami and Ichigo, then to his mother and even to Isshin.

Just as Isshin was finishing up with Ikeda-san, Inari, one of Isshin’s other nurses, entered the clinic.

“Inari-san.” Isshin cocked his head. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m taking over the rest of Ichigo’s shift.” The forty-something single-mother said.

“But...why?” Isshin looked confusedly between her and Ichigo, who looked just as confused as his father.

“Because I’m absconding with Ichigo until Monday.” Asami informed them all casually.

“Well,” Inari smiled, “that’s why _you_ asked me to take over, but I’m only here because you made it worth it.”

“You have no idea.” Asami smiled back.

“You’re absconding with me?” Ichigo wondered, hoping he didn’t sound as love-struck to everyone else as he did to himself.

“What does your boyfriend have to say about that?” Isshin raised his eyebrow in comical fashion.

“Grimmjow will be there.” Asami laughed at Isshin then turned to Ichigo. “And yes, I am...with your permission, of course.”

“Hm, four days away from goat-face,” he weighed in one hand, “but four days with that blue-haired maniac,” he weighed in the other. “Yeah, I’m in.”

“My son!” Isshin feigned a dagger in his heart. “How you wound me!”

“Inari, thank you.” Asami cheerfully greeted the nurse. “I’ll see you Monday.”

“You sure will.” Inari grinned.

“Ichigo, hand-off to Inari, please, then meet me in my treatment room.”

/////

Once Ichigo closed the door behind him, a sense of solace and comfort immediately washed over him. The room smelled of vetiver and ginger, the music was low and soothing, and the lights were dim. He let go of the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding then breathed deeply for the first time today.

When he opened his eyes, Asami was standing before him with a roll-on of essential oil.

“No lavender,” she told him, and he was surprised that she remembered that he hated lavender. While he rolled it on his neck and his chest, like she had taught him, Asami told him, “It’s a blend meant to alleviate sadness.”

Ichigo flicked his eyes to her with a little surprise and a lot of embarrassment. “You think I’m sad?”

“Ichigo,” Asami softly took his face in her hands, “I think you’ve been on the verge of tears all day.”

Ichigo drew a shuddering breath and looked away from Asami. She was right, and hearing her not only call him out, but offer him consolation, was only making it harder to hold back the tears.

“Am I that obvious?” He whispered.

“No.” Asami stroked his cheeks compassionately. “I’m just well-versed in the signs. I want to help you, Ichigo. Will you let me?”

“Ho-how?” he stuttered.

“First, I’d like to give you a massage.” Asami told him. “Just your neck and your feet, for now. And as your friend, not as a professional.”

Ichigo nodded his head, his eyes still cast downward. “Yeah, okay.”

“Shoes and socks off. You may leave your shirt on if you want, but I’ll be able to work your shoulders better if it’s off.” While Ichigo followed her directions, including removing his shirt, Asami removed the blanket and the top sheet from the heated massage table then patted the top of it. “Face-up, head on the table not the face-rest. Bend your knees, _kurasai._ ”

“Yeah.” He answered hoarsely and bent his knees so that she could slide the cylindrical pillow beneath them.

Asami covered him with the top sheet and tucked it in around his chest, his arms on top, then took a seat on the swiveling stool near the head of the table.

Ichigo could remember his mom running her fingers through his hair just like Asami was doing now, except that Asami also pressed the tips of her fingers into his scalp and pushed it around, revealing tension in places he hadn’t even realized it existed. She massaged along his hairline, keeping her touch light and confident, so that he didn’t even really have a choice about lowering his guard. By the time she moved on from massaging his ears to massaging his face, he had already released some tears of frustration, grief, and anger.

“Ichigo, do you trust me not to judge you?” Asami asked him softly. “I won’t be offended if you say no.”

Ichigo’s face scrunched up beneath Asami’s fingers. Of course, he trusted her. The small, frustrated noise he made against releasing any of his emotions was all about not trusting himself. What if he started crying and just couldn’t stop? What if the tears turned into destruction? What if he hurt Asami?

 _“I won’t let you.”_ Shiro promised. _“She’s my ticket outta this mess you call a life.”_

For a split second, Ichigo thought of arguing that his life wasn’t a mess, but...it clearly was.

He nodded his head and managed to tell Asami, “Yeah, I trust you.”

“That makes me really happy.” Asami smiled at him even though he couldn’t see her. “You don’t have to cry, Ichigo. That’s not what I’m trying to do. I just want you to recognize that you’re safe with me...and this sound-resistant room. Cry, shout, lie there and breathe—whatever you need.”

 _You’re safe with me_ , her words echoed in his ears. Didn’t she realize that _she_ was the one who was unsafe? Didn’t she realize just how dangerous Ichigo was? How dangerous Grimmjow was? How could she always be looking out for _their_ safety when she was the human among titans?

 _“You really think_ she’s _the one outmatched by_ you two _?”_ Shiro rolled his eyes.

_My reiryoku is, like, a million times more than hers! Grimmjow’s just the same._

_“Her reiryoku might be smaller than yours, but it isn’t weaker. She can protect herself. Trust me. Trust_ Asami. _”_

Well, if he couldn’t trust Asami or Shiro, he couldn’t trust anyone, right?

“Thank you.” Ichigo whispered.

“You’re welcome.”

As Asami turned Ichigo’s head, supporting it with one hand while the other worked some trigger-points in his neck, Ichigo’s tears poured more freely, though he was silent. He wasn’t really even sure what he was crying over, but it felt good, so he tried not to fight it too much. That was a difficult task, which, he realized, was a sad commentary on his mental state.

Why did he fight against feeling good? Why did he hold on to all the junk that made him miserable? Why did he experience so much discomfort and anxiety when everything was copacetic?

Asami went about her work thoroughly and methodically, though Ichigo knew from past experience that she wasn’t going as intensely as she normally did. This gave him plenty of time to ponder his questions, but he was no closer to any answers by the time she had finished working both sides of his neck and both of his shoulders.

“May I work your jaw, Ichigo?”

“Mm-hmm.” He hummed, partly because he was sort of falling asleep, and partly because he didn’t trust his voice right now.

Asami pressed her oiled-thumbs into both of Ichigo’s masseters and stripped the muscles from cheekbone to jaw.

Ichigo’s mouth opened automatically and he released a groan of discomfort—fuck, that hurt!

“You’re holding a lot of tension here, Ichigo.” Asami told him softly. “I don’t have to ask to know how often you clench your teeth.”

“Mm,” was all he could manage because Asami had gently shut his mouth again so that she could repeat the previous stroke.

 _Son. Of. A. Bitch!_ Ichigo curled his fingers and toes in an effort to prevent himself from squirming.

“You know, our bodies don’t hurt just ‘cause, Ichigo. Even an injury isn’t explanation enough.”

This time, as she stripped the muscle, Ichigo’s groan bordered on a growl. For the barest flash of a moment, he sincerely wanted to punch her.

“Your jaw hurts, you get headaches, and it’s difficult for you to breathe sometimes because you clench your jaw, yes, but why do you clench your jaw in the first place?”

Ichigo made a noise at the back of his throat to acknowledge her question but was otherwise silent while he thought about her question and as Asami continued her work on his jaw.

It didn’t really take a genius to know the answer.

“Because I’m frustrated.”

“And why are you frustrated?”

“Because...because I can’t be what everyone needs me to be.”

“Everyone?”

“Patients. My dad, my sisters. My friends.”

_My friends that I don’t have anymore._

“The worlds of the Living and the Dead.” Asami added carefully.

“...Yeah.” Ichigo said heavily.

“People need what they need, Ichigo. There’s nothing wrong with that. What’s wrong is when they expect you to be someone you’re not, to deny your own needs in order to meet theirs. What’s wrong is when they refuse to do for you what they demand that you do for them.”

“They’re not doing it on purpose.” Ichigo defended, though he really had no idea why.

“They’re still hurting you.” Asami replied reasonably.

 _“Hurting you bad.”_ Shiro agreed.

When Ichigo didn’t reply after many seconds, Asami began working the trigger-points in the masseters, pressing and holding on very specific spots and drawing some more pained groans from Ichigo.

Ichigo did his best to relax and let Asami work, but the more pressure she applied—and relieved—the more upset and agitated Ichigo felt until finally—

“Okay, I give!” Ichigo sat up on the table after nearly ten minutes of torture, throwing the sheet off and swinging his legs over the edge like he was about to storm out. He stopped himself, though, stayed where he was and gave Asami the stink-eye. “Did I piss you off or something?”

“Did _I_ piss _you_ off?” Asami responded with a small smile.

Gods, Ichigo wanted her so bad. How could such a little smile make all the bad stuff disappear? What could a big smile do?

“Yeah!” Ichigo pouted and rubbed the tender sides of his face. “Whaddya gotta push so fuckin’ hard for?”

“There are different types of pain, Ichigo. Some is meant to break you and keep you down—like the pain of meeting everyone’s expectations while putting aside your own. But some pain,” she stepped between his legs and put her hands on his face to gently massage the area she’d just abused, “is meant to heal so that you can build yourself up stronger than before.”

Ichigo exhaled most of his anger and his hands fell automatically to Asami’s luscious hips, squeezing them as he pressed his forehead to hers. This close up, he could distinguish the scent of grapefruit on her skin from the rest of the essential oils in the room.

He _loved_ grapefruit.

“You know what’s painful?” Ichigo laughed mirthlessly. “Having to live with the fact that I didn’t even try for you, let alone fight Grimmjow for you. Knowing that Grimmjow gets to be with you in all the ways I can’t. That he’s a better man because of you.” Ichigo’s grip on Asami tightened unconsciously as he hissed with self-loathing, “That he’s only going to keep getting better while I just get more bitter and pathetic.”

Asami’s thumbs stroked his cheeks while she waited for him to continue.

Ichigo had to smile at that because she had told him once that she tried to wait at least thirty seconds after a man stopped talking before she started talking so that if he had anything more to add, he wouldn’t be scared off. Ichigo wanted to kiss her so bad. He wanted to push her up against the walls and test just how sound-resistant they really were.

“I didn’t fight for Rukia. I didn’t fight for Orihime. I didn’t fight for you.” He sighed resignedly and shut his eyes. “I deserve to be bitter and pathetic. It’s all my fault.”

Asami marveled at the power of the connections between body, mind, and spirit. By working the tension out of his jaw and from around his throat, Ichigo had found his Voice. He had allowed himself to be, at least partially, healed, allowed all the things he had held back, had restrained himself from expressing, to be released. Consciously or not, he trusted her with this release when he had trusted no one else before her.

It was a humbling experience that made Asami’s eyes water, but she held back the tears because she didn’t want to alarm Ichigo. He had never been so bold with her before, not even during the short time he had attempted to court her. And now he was telling her that he was angry that Grimmjow had privileges with her that he didn’t, and his hands were on her hips, and his mouth so very close to hers.

The problem was that Ichigo didn’t know that Grimmjow and Asami had agreed that they both were allowed to kiss Ichigo without the other being present, and he was dangerously close to crossing a line of honor that Asami knew he would never forgive himself for. He still believed that making a move on her would compromise not just his own honor, but Asami’s, as well. Not to mention the betrayal of Grimmjow’s trust. So if he kissed her like she knew he wanted to, before he knew that he actually had permission to do so, it wouldn’t matter to him that the permission had been in place for days.

Asami worried, now, that she had overtaxed his system, that she hadn’t paid enough attention to his headspace and was now taking advantage of him in ways he didn’t want to be taken advantage of. Of all the mistakes she could have made, this was one of the worst she could imagine. She knew that their friendship would fall apart if Ichigo’s consent were compromised in any way.

“It isn’t your _fault_ , Ichigo.” Asami told him as she brushed away some fresh tears from his cheeks. “It is your _responsibility_. You told me the other night that you trusted me because I always accept responsibility. I don’t just accept it—I _embrace_ it. It’s a gift.”

“I...I don’t understand that.” Ichigo admitted, absently flitting his nose against Asami’s.

“I’ll help you understand.” She promised, moving one of her hands to Ichigo’s bare chest, just over his heart. “Do you still trust me, Ichigo?”

Ichigo finally lifted his eyes to Asami’s for the first time in minutes, and Asami nearly stopped breathing. She wondered if Ichigo knew what kind of power he wielded just because his eyes were so damn vulnerable. It was like having a lion show her his soft underbelly—a level of trust and comfort that took her breath away. Even the color of his eyes reminded her of a lion. To her horror—and amusement—images of little golden-eyed children with purple-black hair flashed across her mind’s eye.

Asami took a deep breath so that she wouldn’t laugh and ruin the moment—something she’d had plenty of practice doing because her hormones often tried to make her imagine little Grimmjow/Asami babies.

“Yes.” Ichigo answered, his tone so weighty that it could only be interpreted as all-encompassing and unequivocal.

Asami kissed him.

Despite Ichigo’s declaration of trust, Asami was surprised at how unsurprised Ichigo was. He didn’t hesitate for even a second to kiss her back. Literally—he’d backed her into the wall. His hands wandered, mostly-respectful, if veering a little too close to places he hadn’t been invited yet.

Ichigo kissed differently than Grimmjow, to put it mildly. If Grimmjow kissed like a wolf—hungry and demanding and not at all shy of using his teeth—then Ichigo kissed like a sheepdog, enthusiastic and caring and careful. Well, maybe not so much careful as shy. Asami sensed that Ichigo maybe wasn’t as experienced as she had just assumed he was, given, well, all the givens about him: handsome, polite, smart, loving, brave...did she really need to go on?

It didn’t matter, anyway, because she and Grimm were going to give Ichigo as much experience as he asked for.

Just as their energies surged, and Asami thought she was going to have to hit pause, Ichigo began to slow his kisses down, rolling them to a stop rather than hitting the breaks.

Score one for Ichigo.

Asami smiled softly up at Ichigo, her hands still on his face and chest, respectively.

Ichigo looked down at her, happy and confused, his hands squeezing her waist like she might run if he let go...or, like he might run.

“Asami?”

“Yes?” She whispered.

“I’m starting to freak out a little.” He smiled wryly, but his growing anxiety was evident in his features.

“Grimm’s okay with it, Ichigo.”

“How can he be okay with something he doesn’t know about? Something involving _you_?” Ichigo asked, panicked and desperate for a reassuring answer. Still, he didn’t run away. He held her tighter, looked at her with all the trust in the world, despite his concerns.

“Grimmjow and I had a serious discussion about you, Ichigo...many, actually. About how we could help you, how we could take care of you and show you how to take care of yourself.”

Ichigo looked at Asami, curious and wary and amused. “ _Grimmjow_ taking care of _me_?”

“You’d be surprised,” Asami said seductively and gave Ichigo a sly smile that made his breath hitch. “Grimmjow is quite attentive.”

“To _you_ , sure.” Ichigo replied with a shaky laugh. “He actually likes you.”

“He likes you, too, Ichigo. I know you’re not completely unaware of that.”

Ichigo blushed brightly and turned his head so he could pretend to be interested in the muscle chart hanging next to them on the wall.

“He wants to help you, Ichigo. And he’s willing to make some breathtakingly-generous concessions to do so.”

Ichigo glanced at her sideways. “Generous, how?”

Asami started to speak then closed her mouth and furrowed her brow for a moment. She exhaled thoroughly and began, “I used to be like you, Ichigo: a shapeshifter who couldn’t remember who she was for real. I conformed to everyone around me until I got too sick to continue. And then I finally started taking care of myself, standing up for myself, invoking the best—arguably, worst, if they’re used irresponsibly—traits of my American heritage. By the time I met Grimm, I had gotten pretty good at setting and enforcing my boundaries.”

“Pretty good?” Ichigo snorted and twirled some of Asami’s hair around his finger. “No one has ever stood up to Grimmjow Jaegerjacquez the way you did.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty fuckin’ proud of myself for that day.” She smiled reminiscently. “Quick tangent for you to learn from: if I hadn’t stood my ground with Grimm, we wouldn’t be together. Good things happen when you’re authentic. Back to my main point, though: I realized that while setting boundaries was good, it wasn’t enough. Not for me. They stopped me from allowing others to drain me, but they didn’t stop the drain of the old wounds from before I set boundaries. They didn’t help me release the energy of those wounds. They didn’t actually feed me or energize me. Make me feel alive.”

“...So, what did?”

“Submitting to Grimmjow.” Asami answered unfalteringly.

Ichigo made a highly distressed noise and looked at Asami like he was about to break.

And between the images of Asami submitting to Grimmjow, and the ones of _Ichigo_ submitting, Ichigo really _was_ about to break.

“I’m telling you this so that you have a better appreciation for Grimmjow’s generosity. The generosity that is going to allow you to be with me in all the ways Grimmjow is. For starters.”

Ichigo gasped softly, hardly believing his ears.

“If you just want to practice setting boundaries all weekend, we are more than happy to help you do that. And I think that, alone, would make your life so much easier and more enjoyable. And, if you want something...less orthodox...if you want to see if what worked for me will work for you, too, or you want to try something different completely...Well, Grimmjow and I want to help you explore and discover. All of us. Together.”

The last hour had been a whirlwind of emotions for Ichigo: from the weight of telling a stranger's family that she was dying, to the frustration and embarrassment with Ikeda Hotaru, to gratitude and a little shame when Asami intervened on his behalf, then the relief of knowing he didn’t have to finish his shift, that Asami was going to give him a massage and take him away from this inescapable place. Then the tears and the anger and the fucking _lust_.

He had fucking kissed Asami! She had kissed him back! What the hell was even happening?!

Whiplash, that’s what he had.

...And guilt. Horrible, aching, mind-warping guilt.

Who was he to be given such a generous gift? If Grimmjow and Asami only knew of the things he had imagined doing with them, _to_ them, they wouldn’t be so keen to help him. He didn’t deserve their kindness, and they definitely didn’t owe it to him just because he’d saved both their worlds.

 _Or they_ do _know, and that’s why they’re inviting you, King._

Ichigo considered that, but it would be too fortuitous to be the case—he wasn’t that lucky.

 _Don’t be a fool, King,_ Shiro gnashed his teeth in Ichigo’s mind. _Go with her._

_I can’t do that, Shiro._

_You_ have _to, King. You’re unraveling. She can fix it, just like she fixes everything._

Well, yeah, she _did_ fix everything, didn’t she? But her _novio_ was a much more destructive force.

“Grimmjow...” Ichigo shook his head, unsure of what he was trying to say.

Asami understood the uncertainty in his silence and provided her best guess at what he was getting at.

“Can provide you with things that I can’t, should you want them at all. But the only definite expectation that Grimmjow has of you is that you’re curious and willing to explore the possibilities. Agreeing to spend the weekend with us doesn’t mean you’re agreeing to submit to Grimmjow. And submitting to him once is certainly not an agreement to do so again.”

Not what Ichigo had been getting at, but definitely a question he’d had. A few questions, actually.

“What...what would that look like?” Ichigo asked, surprised at the roughness of his own voice. “Submitting?”

“You get to set your boundaries—what you like, what you won’t tolerate, what you’re willing to try—and then you get to just...let go.” She exhaled dreamily and Ichigo unconsciously imitated her. “You don’t have to be in charge, you don’t have to make plans, you’re just there, in the moment, and the only choice you have to make is how quickly you want to submit.”

Ichigo inhaled sharply at that, his legs wobbling for a moment. He wanted that, everything Asami had just described. He wanted to be able to let go more than almost anything...it also scared him to his core. He wasn’t so much scared of hurting Grimmjow because, even if that happened, Grimmjow would heal. But, he could kill Asami, easily. What the fuck would he do then?

 _“Grimmjow hasn’t killed her yet.”_ Shiro pointed out. _“Ain’t gonna let you do it, either. Neither will I, ‘member?”_

That was oddly comforting coming from the reptile running around Ichigo’s brain.

“Um...could I...I mean...” Ichigo looked up to the ceiling with a groan of embarrassment, but he figured if he was going to go through with this, he needed to be willing to push passed such feelings. “Could I submit to you? Too?”

Asami gently brushed her thumbs across his brows and down his cheekbones. “I suppose it depends on what that looks like to you, Ichigo. There are some things I’m willing to try for you, and many that I’m not. For instance, I don’t think I could bear to even slap you, let alone hit you.”

Ichigo laughed bitterly. “I couldn’t bear for you to slap me, either.”

Asami kissed him again, so tenderly that Ichigo felt a strange bubbling in his throat and his eyes started to burn.

“Remember what I said about the different types of pain?” She asked after pulling away just far enough to look him in the eyes. “Keep that in mind this weekend. I think...well, I think a lot of unpleasant experiences are going to surface for you, Ichigo, same as they did for me, and for Grimmjow. Sometimes still do. If you’ll trust Grimmjow and me to handle them, you’ll come out the other side a different person. Someone closer to who you really are.”

Ichigo didn’t tell her that he was scared that he was already the person he really was. That there were no hidden layers, no dramatic unveiling of his true Self to be had. This was it: a twenty-three-year old boy who lived with his dad, couldn’t finish his shift because he needed to cry, and had an imaginary friend in his head who sassed back.

_“Asshole.”_

_Just like that,_ Ichigo smiled at Shiro.

“I trust you, Asami. I trust Grimmjow...Maybe not as much as you do, but in my defense, the first handful of years that we knew each other, all we ever did was try to kill one another.”

“That’s fair.” Asami smiled softly. “And as far as building that trust...when Grimm and I discussed it, we figured any submission on your part would begin with a lot of, uh,” she faltered for the first time, which made Ichigo look at her blushing face with interest, “um...”

“Yeah?” Ichigo prompted with amusement.

“Watching and learning?”

Ichigo just blinked for several moments before groaning and pressing his face into a nearby stack of hand towels. His voice was comically muffled when he said, “I need to be somewhere else for this conversation.”

“Oh! Yeah, my bad. Heh.” Asami rubbed nervously at the back of her neck. “Uh, wrap this blanket around you. If anyone asks, I spilled oil all over your shirt.”

/////

Grimmjow could sense them nearing the house before their bus even reached its stop. He tracked their reiatsu as they leisurely walked the block and a half to the house, wondering how much Asami had told Ichigo.

Grimmjow would be lying if he said he weren’t nervous. Asami had told him that she wanted one of them to approach Ichigo this week. They both had just sort of assumed that Grimmjow would do the approaching, most likely after the spar today. Now Asami was bringing Ichigo to their home at one in the afternoon and from the way Asami’s and Ichigo’s fingers were intertwined, Grimmjow could see that the ginger wasn’t totally in the dark.

Grimmjow growled at the sight of them holding hands. He knew it was an innocent gesture, yet he had always considered it one of the more intimate things that he and Asami did. It was a way for him to assure her, and himself, that she was safe; a way for him to signal to anyone else around that he claimed her, proudly, and that she was not available; and a way for him to show her affection and keep in communication with her, as they had developed many kinesthetic ways to let one another know what they needed.

It was mostly that second reason that had Grimmjow’s hackles raised. Despite the fact that he definitely wanted Ichigo in their bed, Grimmjow hadn’t considered the possibility that Ichigo might want to make a claim on Asami...or, hell, even on Grimmjow. Seeing him shyly hold Asami’s hand as they made their way up the street was off-putting.

But...would it really be so bad? A claim went both ways, after all, and Grimmjow wasn’t put off by claiming Ichigo. Still a little put off at the thought of Asami claiming Ichigo, of splitting her attentions between the two of them. But, really, wasn’t that what she already did? She took care of all the Kurosaki, actually, with special attention to Ichigo and without any of the special benefits that she got from Grimmjow. Maybe she wouldn’t be so drained at the end of her work days if she could use Ichigo as a pick-me-up. Maybe Ichigo wouldn’t require so much of Asami’s attention if he had her as a sexual outlet, like a recharging station.

Grimmjow screwed his face up at his own metaphors—neither of them were things to be used and forgotten until they were needed again. They were living beings, which was why they could even use... _help_ one another in such a way. But...if they helped each other, why would either of them need Grimmjow?

Shit, even the idea of that _hurt_ , another emptiness not unlike his Hollow hole.

Had he made a mistake in giving Asami the go-ahead? Should he have kept Ichigo in the “fantasy not meant for reality” category? Was he about to lose his sparring partner? Was Asami about to lose her friend, maybe her job? Was Grimmjow about to lose them both?

The potential backlash if this whole thing went sideways was pretty fuckin’ big...one of the reasons Grimmjow had never attempted it before now. But, if Asami was right about Ichigo’s mental state, then the potential backlash of _not_ trying was even bigger. And, loathe though Grimmjow was to admit it, he was fond of Ichigo and couldn’t just sit by while he suffered.

Fuck, Asami had turned him into such a sap.

He smiled despite himself as he thought about Asami’s vulnerability. If he wanted to prevent this arrangement from going sideways, he was going to have to be vulnerable, too. Grimmjow had been eyeing Ichigo for years, never quite compelled enough to do anything about it, but willing to give it a shot if Ichigo ever asked. Grimmjow knew, now, that that never would have changed without Asami. There was no truly compelling reason for either him or Ichigo to be as vulnerable as an admission of even casual attraction would require, and there were plenty of compelling reasons to keep the status quo. Part of Grimmjow argued that he had known for a long time that Ichigo was getting beat down by the Shinigami, by his life, and that he, Grimmjow, had tried to get Ichigo to stand up for himself, to make changes, but the dumb kid just wouldn’t listen!

That might have been true, but Grimmjow knew that he had simply been too chicken-shit to push the issue. He had tried, in the beginning, to get Ichigo to grow a backbone, but the only person the kid ever stood up to was Grimmjow. And even that had grown less and less as they became more and more friendly with each other and Ichigo began to worry that he might chase Grimmjow away. Grimmjow had pulled back at that point, too, not wanting to take advantage of Ichigo the same way that the Shinigami did.

Now Grimmjow had to wonder if Ichigo had interpreted that attempt at respecting his boundaries as Grimmjow wanting nothing more than to fight every week, friendship be damned.

Gods, Consciousness was so complicated.

“Ahem.” Asami cleared her throat, pulling Grimmjow from his reverie.

He’d been sunbathing on their window seat, staring out the glass, and now he turned his head toward the entranceway on the edge of the living room.

Asami’s eyebrow rose in amusement.

Grimmjow just raised his eyebrow right back at her in insolent question and she replied with a blatant eye-fuck that made him purr.

And then he saw Ichigo’s tomato-red face and wide-eyed gaze.

Oh, right—he was naked. And, now, more than a little erect.

Grimmjow gave a put upon sigh and reached for his hakama on the floor.

“Oh, don’t, Grimm.” Asami pouted theatrically. “You look so good without them.”

Grimmjow gave a bark of laughter as he pulled on his hakama then stalked gracefully over to Asami and kissed her cross-eyed, partly because this was how he always greeted her, and partly to make Ichigo even more uncomfortable.

The kiss turned possessive in an instant. Asami had to wrap her arms around Grimmjow’s neck to keep from falling as he crowded her.

He broke from her with a growl and with lust in his eyes. “I can taste him on you.”

_And I fuckin’ hate it...and fuckin’ love it. Shit, this is gonna be more difficult than I thought._

“I thought I was supposed to seduce him?” Grimmjow put on his best sexy smile as he kissed Asami again. Now that he was prepared to taste Ichigo there, he was better able to appreciate just how fucking good he tasted in Asami’s mouth. So good that Grimmjow actually moaned a little as he pulled away. “I been planning it for days.”

Asami gave the back of his neck two squeezes as she looked at him cautiously.

Grimmjow wasn’t sure why he ever tried getting anything passed her. He replied with two tugs on her hair and another, more chaste, kiss on her mouth. He moaned theatrically this time and pulled away to say,

“Gods, you taste good.” Then he turned his wicked eyes on Ichigo, pinning him to the spot like a squirrel who couldn’t decide which way to run. “I wonder what it's like straight from the source.”

With the kind of slowness that says, in no uncertain terms, that speed is not necessary because he’s going to get what he wants with or without a chase, Grimmjow backed Ichigo into the nearest wall. He boxed Ichigo in with his arms and used his height advantage to lean over him. Grimmjow’s heart thumped like crazy and Ichigo’s body heat seeped into his skin, despite that they weren’t touching.

“Do you want me to seduce you, Kurosaki?” Grimmjow asked, voice low and husky.

Grimmjow’s breath rushed over Ichigo’s face, surprising Ichigo with its spicy scent, like cloves and cinnamon. It made Ichigo close the distance between their mouths without a second thought...or, really, even a thought at all.

Grimmjow pulled away just before their lips could meet then pushed Ichigo a little roughly into the wall. Grimmjow let a hint of a smile grace his lips as he looked at Ichigo the way any creator looked at a blank slate: with humility, reverence, and an untamable hunger.

For a moment, Ichigo’s disappointment and arousal were quickly overshadowed by his worry that he’d overstepped, or misread the situation all together. But, the look in Grimmjow’s eyes assured even Ichigo’s anxiety that he was far from displeased.

“I asked you a question, Kurosaki.”

Ichigo’s knees nearly buckled, and his spine—and something a bit lower—stiffened at the dominance in Grimmjow’s tone, the quality of being completely in control. It was unlike any demand he had ever heard from Grimmjow before. If Ichigo had had the brain capacity, he would have realized that Grimmjow had stopped making erratic, frenzied demands months ago.

“I...uh...” Ichigo could barely focus between Grimmjow’s intense gaze, Grimmjow’s warm body, and his own racing heartbeat. “Yeah,” he managed hoarsely, his voice getting quieter and quieter as he finished, “Yes, I...I want you to seduce me.”

“Well done, Kurosaki.” Grimmjow praised, taking note of the way Ichigo’s whole face brightened, even with the dark blush on his cheeks. Grimmjow used his free hand to trace Ichigo’s bottom lip and growled quietly at how soft it was. “Tell me why you’re here. What do you want to happen over the next four days?”

“I...uh...” Ichigo turned his face away from Grimmjow. Four days? It seemed like eternity, a bounty he’d never expected, yet also seemed like not nearly long enough.

“Look at me, Kurosaki.” Grimmjow purred but the demand was evident.

Ichigo took a deep, shuddering breath as he obeyed. “I want what–what Asami described: to...um...watch and learn.”

Grimmjow’s grin was seductive and dark. “What do you want to watch me do with Asami? What do you want to learn how to do for us?”

Ichigo’s skin broke out in goosebumps and, with wide eyes, he gaped like a fish at Grimmjow, trying to form words, but his brain was only producing pictures. Hot, sweaty, sexy pictures of the three of them in various configurations, like one of those toys whose finite pieces can be fitted together in infinite ways.

It didn’t help that Shiro was ranking them, or that his rankings were constantly changing as new images appeared.

Grimmjow almost laughed out loud at the way Ichigo’s eyes glazed over. Not that he could blame him—Grimmjow probably wouldn’t be faring much better if their roles were reversed. He couldn’t laugh out loud, though, lest he ruin the mood, or scar Ichigo’s pride, so he leaned in so that his lips brushed Ichigo’s ear when he spoke.

“Kurosaki,” Grimmjow purred, “If you can’t answer me like this,” he licked Ichigo’s neck and up behind his ear, an indulgence he couldn’t deny himself, “then we’ll have to continue this interview in a much-less-sexy manner.”

“I-in-interview?” Ichigo managed, even with his eyes rolling in the back of his head at the slightly sandpaper-y feel of Grimmjow’s tongue.

“Mm.” Grimmjow affirmed and pulled Ichigo’s earlobe into his mouth for a moment. “I gotta know what you want before I can promise to give it to you. You gotta know what I want. Never been with another dude before.”

“Oh.” Ichigo replied, a bit nonplussed. He was having trouble processing at normal speeds, but had processed enough to realize that Grimmjow wasn’t just trying to embarrass him, or make him uncomfortable—Grimmjow was making sure that he could provide for him. Knowing that lifted a weight from Ichigo’s shoulders and made him feel invincible.

Grimmjow wasn’t upset anymore. In fact, he had forgotten that he’d ever been upset that Ichigo had kissed Asami. Ichigo looked so damn fuckable in his simple attire—blue jeans and a plain white t-shirt—that Grimmjow probably wouldn’t have been able to hold a grudge even if he and Asami hadn’t had an agreement. As it was, Grimmjow was only barely conscious of his tongue tracing Ichigo’s ear, or his thumb tracing Ichigo’s nipple, because his head was clouding with hormones and images of what he could do to Ichigo’s body, the sounds he could coax from Ichigo, the things he and Asami could do with Ichigo.

Ichigo tentatively, though not without confidence, put his hand on Grimmjow’s waist then whispered, “Me, neither.”

Grimmjow forced himself to put some distance between them, forced his head to clear as they continued their...intake, of sorts.

“Makes it even more important to discuss shit beforehand.” Grimmjow told him, smiling teasingly. “Literally.”

To Grimmjow’s left, Asami gave a small laugh, and Ichigo cringed a little but still nodded his head.

“Rocky start, Kurosaki.” Grimmjow chuckled. “You gonna scrunch your face up like that every time we hit something you find embarrassing? Nothin’ good comes without a dark side.”

Ichigo had been watching Grimmjow’s transformation from power-obsessed maniac to sorta-tamed wild cat for many years now, but he hadn’t realized just how far Grimm had come. There was a time when Ichigo had suspected that any sexual encounter Grimmjow had had had* been nonconsensual, so the fact that this discussion was even taking place, let alone with so much control, was a surprise to Ichigo.

He quickly realized, though, that Grimmjow had never been one to prey on the weak. He wasn’t even one to take advantage of the moments of weakness in his strong opponents. So, really, it was highly unlikely that he was a rapist. Even if Ichigo squinted, he couldn’t see Grimmjow that way anymore.

“I’m sorry.” Ichigo said heavily, not just a response to Grimmjow’s rebuke, but an attempt to clear his conscience of its grave insults to Grimmjow’s character.

“For instance,” Grimmjow rolled his eyes, “your habit of sulking every time you think you’ve failed in some way? _Major_ dark side.”

Ichigo scowled and knocked Grimmjow’s arm away from his chest. He felt like he’d just stepped into a suit of armor, yet he felt more at risk than ever. So much for feeling invincible.

Grimmjow simply wrapped his hand around the back of Ichigo’s neck then pulled him into a fiery, mildly violent, kiss.

Asami squeaked.

Ichigo was tense under Grimmjow’s hand, so Grimmjow employed a technique he had learned from Asami and pressed his thumb into the muscles at the base of Ichigo’s skull. Ichigo immediately moaned and practically melted in Grimmjow’s hands.

Grimmjow took advantage of Ichigo’s relaxed, distracted state and pressed even further against him, crowding him just like he had Asami last night. And just like with Asami, Ichigo gave in immediately, clay to be molded any way that Grimmjow wanted. It was a heady feeling, that much power, and also a sobering responsibility not to abuse that power.

When Grimmjow finally pulled away, he nipped Ichigo’s lip hard enough to draw blood, purposefully trying to draw him back to reality...and because he just fuckin’ wanted to.

“A dark side,” Grimmjow continued after licking a trickle of blood from Ichigo’s mouth, “that is more than worth it to have you around.”

Ichigo averted his gaze and blushed so cutely that Grimmjow almost didn’t stop himself from pinching Ichigo’s cheek and laughing. Asami often did the same thing as Ichigo when Grimmjow expressed how much he liked her. She had stopped averting her gaze, though, and now thanked him with kisses instead. He wondered how long it would take to get Ichigo to do that.

“Sex is _fun_ , Kurosaki—no brooding allowed. We’re here to explore, to fuck, to fuck up, to transform. Sometimes it’s painful, sometimes it’s hard.” Grimmjow grinned slyly and ground his erection against Ichigo’s, making them both groan almost like they were in pain. “But it’s always worth it.”

Grimmjow turned Ichigo’s face toward his own and kissed him with a slow, steady aggression that completely sealed his promise and had Ichigo whimpering beneath him.

Ichigo knew instantly that he was willing to give up anything to have what Grimmjow was offering: transformation, exploration. A safe place to fail. The sex was a definite draw, too, but what Ichigo truly wanted was everything else.

“Don’t you agree, Sunshine?” Grimmjow pulled away from Ichigo and smiled at Asami, who looked just as hot and bothered as the two men.

“Ye-yeah.” She nodded, her eyes refocusing, regaining some of her composure. “It’s all worth the difficulty, Ichigo, worth submitting to—the sex, the self-discovery. Grimmjow.” Asami stopped to smile fondly at Grimmjow, then turned back to Ichigo. “Not only is Grimmjow worth submitting to, he’s _worthy_ of submitting to.”

Asami’s words alone would have left Ichigo stunned, but their effect on Grimmjow left Ichigo breathless. Grimmjow instantly seemed twice as tall, his chest puffed up as big as Ichigo had ever seen it, and he even seemed to glow a little. But what truly struck Ichigo was that Grimmjow looked down at Asami with the same look that Isshin reserved for Masaki, in his more lowkey moments: love and adoration and respect, none of which were things Ichigo had ever seen on Grimmjow’s face, and all of which served to soften Grimmjow’s face into something almost boyishly happy.

Ichigo was suddenly and painfully assaulted with how badly he wanted to be considered worthy. In many ways, he’d been chasing it his whole life, from everyone he knew. Chasing it, yet convinced he didn’t deserve it because he’d killed his mom. Chasing it yet pretending he didn’t care. Working hard for top grades and playing it off as no big deal, saving all three worlds from Aizen and just accepting, even defending, the cold-shoulder he got afterwards, no matter how much it hurt. Trying to show Orihime how much she menat to him and doing nothing more than smile outwardly as he watched her get on the train to Kyoto five years ago, even though he’d felt like his insides were being ripped out.

Would he ever do enough good to make anyone happy? Could he ever be perfect enough to be loved? Was anyone ever going to stay?

Grimmjow startled at the extreme change in Ichigo’s demeanor, at how Ichigo collapsed into himself, spaced out and depressed. When he looked to Asami for help, she was biting her lip against tears, and Grimmjow saw just how right she was: Ichigo was worse off than anyone realized.

“Ichigo.” Grimmjow firmly took Ichigo’s jaw in hand, applying just enough pressure to disrupt whatever buzz-kill thoughts he was stuck in. “You have three choices: you and I can go spar right now; Asami and I can give you a massage together; or we can all go take a nap.”

“I’m sorr—” Ichigo began.

“Apologizing for existing isn’t one of your options.” Grimmjow cut him off sharply.

Ichigo’s eyes widened with surprise.

Then softened with gratitude.

Then shut with exhaustion.

“Nap, please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * This is not a typo. The English language is fucking ridiculous, we all know this, and as a certified-TESOL instructor, I feel it is my obligation to point out when it is particularly offensive. To those of you who are non-native English speakers using fanfic as a way to improve your reading skills, the way to read "...that any sexual encounter Grimmjow had had had been nonconsensual..." is with emphasis on the second "had," with a pause immediately following, and then reading "had been nonconsensual..." as if the other two "had" didn't exist...I hope that helps. I'm certified, but I've never actually used my certification professionally.
> 
> Also, if you are using fanfic to improve your reading skills, just know that I take creative liberty with the way I write the narrative, and definitely with the way I write dialogue. For instance, "gonna" is not, academically and professionally speaking, an acceptable way to write "going to," but it is the way that the majority of American-English speakers say it, even in professional and academic settings. 
> 
> I don't know why I went off on this tangent, but, oh well.
> 
> I have a bit of the next chapter written, and since this has turned into a much more involved story than I'd originally planned (originally, this was just supposed to be PWP), it might take me a little longer to post the next chapter as I try to make sure that it will fit into the wider scope of the story.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	5. Human Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What to do, what to do...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all SO MUCH for your support and encouragement. I really needed it. I am not overly happy with this chapter, as evidenced by the fact that I have over 65 pages of material for it (only about 18 is posted here), and you can expect it to get heavily edited at some point, but here it is, in all its very-rough-draft-at-2am glory.
> 
> If you are in need of an explanation for my prolonged absence, you can check the notes at the end.

Asami was sick to her stomach. She had known back at the clinic that Ichigo wasn’t in the right headspace and she had persisted anyway. Now this. Now, Ichigo was asleep on her bed as she stroked his back and scalp while Grimmjow was wrapped around her and copying her movements. Not the worst outcome, certainly, but even in sleep, Ichigo still seemed distressed.

Grimmjow was distressed, too. Asami could feel his tension in the lines of his body where they were contoured to her own, could see it in the way his fingers absently, even clumsily, traced over Ichigo’s back, when normally his agile fingers were graceful and skilled. She could feel it in the way that she couldn’t feel his lips on her skin, kissing every inch within reach.

“Asami.” Grimmjow said softly as he leaned over to kiss the tears from her cheek. “Talk to me.”

“I fucked up, Grimm.” Asami replied just as softly, her voice quivering.

Grimmjow stopped stroking Ichigo’s back and threaded his fingers through Asami’s, bringing her hand to his lips and kissing each of her knuckles. The familiar gesture comforted Asami greatly and pulled her out of her mental spiral and down into her body. It reminded her that Grimmjow loved her hands, even though she thought they were one of her worst features, if only because, as a massage therapist, she had to keep her nails so short that they nearly bled every time she trimmed them, and her hands were so muscular that she didn’t think they could be very comfortable to hold. Which, of course, was a clear case of self-prejudice because Grimmjow had insanely muscular hands and they were very comfortable to hold.

“He’ll be okay, Asami. We all will.” Grimmjow promised with a kiss to the back of her hand. “Tell me why you think you fucked up.”

Asami told him all about Ichigo’s day, told him everything about what happened in her treatment room—something that made her cringe because treatment rooms were not meant for sexiness—and finished with, “I didn’t fuck up in bringing him here. I know we can still help him. I just...I introduced the sexual aspect too soon. Timing is important.”

Grimmjow was well aware of how important timing was. If Ichigo hadn’t missed their spar a year ago, Grimmjow would never have had reason to show up at Kurosaki Clinic. He would have maintained his routine of helping Starrk and Hollybell in Hueco Mundo, broken up only by Thursday spars at Urahara’s...and doing whatever favor Urahara demanded in exchange for the use of his training facility. Asami wouldn’t even have known Grimmjow existed except that Ichigo had to be fighting _someone_ every Thursday.

Just the thought made Grimmjow both furious and sick to his stomach.

Grimmjow reassured himself that Asami was _his_ by shifting so that she was beneath him, his legs straddling hers as he kissed her. He grunted softly when she pulled him closer by digging her fingers into his shoulders. She always responded to him so immediately and so intensely that it made his heart clench.

Asami didn’t know what had upset Grimmjow just now, but she had seen his distress, felt it in his muscles, before he kissed her. She’d set a goal for herself that every time Grimmjow wanted to kiss her, she would kiss back—even if she would rather know what she’d said that had bothered him. Well, maybe not _rather_ —Grimmjow’s kisses were mind-melting, after all—but _also_.

Asami knew that many of her other relationships had ended because she hadn’t realized that physical touch, especially sex, was to men what verbal communication was to women: connection. She had expected them to listen to her and respond with interest, yet had not given them and their needs the same consideration. She had expected them to bond with her in the same way she bonded with them and she had gotten burned for it. Now, after all this time with Grimmjow, she knew that a man expressed _a lot_ during sex, and learning what Grimmjow was saying was the most fun she’d ever had learning a new language.

_Oh, duh—what’s he saying now?_

He had one hand firmly on the base of her spine, the other on the back of her neck, and he was demanding more interaction from her than usual. Asami had never been one to just “lie back and think of England,” but Grimmjow seemed particularly adamant that she participate. The last time he’d kissed her like this, she had been accidentally pushed off the curb and in front of an oncoming bus. It hadn’t really been a close call, but close enough that bystanders had crowded her to make sure she was okay, and close enough that Grimmjow had made a _Garganta_ back home the second it had been feasible to do so.

It all clicked into place when she remembered his small outburst when he’d realized that she and Ichigo had kissed. She didn’t know what, but she must have said something just now that made him worry that he was going to lose her, or something equally ridiculous. She would sooner give up both her hands than give up Grimmjow. She couldn’t possibly have invented a better partner for herself—no way was she giving him up.

_Silly goose,_ she thought to herself as she made an enamored little sound and threaded her fingers through Grimmjow’s hair, tugging at the strands in the aggressive way she knew he loved.

Grimmjow growled softly and pulled Asami closer, kissed her deeper. He could spend centuries just kissing Asami. As it was, they had often spent hours, even days, exploring each other’s lips and teeth and tongues with hardly a break, and only because Asami was human and had trivial human needs, like sleeping and shitting.

Grimmjow snorted softly, Asami’s lower lip caught between his. She smiled against his mouth and gave a playful tug on his hair.

“Are you laughing at me?” She whispered.

“Never ‘at’ you.” He kissed her again then pulled away and smiled. “But, yeah, I was thinkin’ about you.”

“What about me?”

“Your petty humanity.” He said haughtily then tweaked her nose.

Asami barely managed to stifle her laughter by turning her head toward her shoulder.

“And how much I love it…How much I love _you_.”

Asami looked affectionately upon Grimmjow, her fingers tracing the vulnerable lines of his face. She took so long to reply that Grimmjow had started strategizing how to back out of the situation without doing either of them too much harm.

“I love you, Grimmjow.” She leaned forward to press a kiss to each of his brows, then his nose, then his mouth. “I promise I’ll say it more.”

Grimmjow pressed his forehead to hers, his eyes closed as he savored the tingling sensation from each of the places she’d kissed him. Then he smiled. “You don’t have to say it more. Just…when I need to hear it.”

“I already promised,” she teased. “No take-backs.”

“I’m gonna hold you to it, then.”

“You wouldn’t be a very good partner if you didn’t.”

“Mm.” He agreed then looked to the guest in their bed. “What do you want to do?”

Asami sighed gravely and pressed her palm to her brow for a moment. “I don’t know, Grimm. I shouldn’t have...I pressed forward when I shouldn’t have and I fuckin’ broke him.”

Grimmjow smiled and flitted his nose playfully across Asami’s. “If he were so easily broken, he would’a died a long time ago, way before I got to him. He just needs a little—what’s it called?—TCL?”

“TLC.” Asami smiled back. “Tender, loving care.”

“That’s what that means?”

“Uh-huh. Why, what did _you_ think it meant?”

“Tits, clit, labia.” Grimmjow shrugged, though the little quirk to his lips gave away how clever he thought he was.

Asami cackled at her lover’s silliness, only managing to cover her mouth after her initial peal of laughter.

Grimmjow kissed her fingers as he waited for her to settle down, swirling his tongue over her knuckles.

“So, which is it?” Asami finally asked, raking her fingers softly across Grimmjow’s shoulders and giving him goosebumps. “Which do you think Ichigo needs the most right now: tits, clits, labia or tender, loving care? ‘Cause when you’re upset, you either need to fuck, or fuck shit up. But when I’m in a funk like his, all I want is to take bubble baths and cuddle with you.”

“I know,” Grimmjow hid his face in her neck under the guise of kissing it, because he was about to choose to be even more vulnerable with her. “It makes me feel guilty for how much I enjoy it.”

“You do?”

“What—you think I don’t like baths and cuddling?” He couldn’t quite stop the edge of joking in his tone, feeling too exposed not to try to cover up a little.

“Um,” Asami bit her lip in embarrassment, and gave Grimmjow an apologetic look, “yeah, honestly, I did. That’s why I don’t really ask for them unless I’m in a funk and I need them.”

“Maybe you’re in a funk because you _always_ need them and you don’t ask.”

Asami went still, her eyes wide and her mouth slightly open.

“You’re a fucking genius.” She whispered in awe, a grateful smile spreading across her face.

“Maybe not a genius,” he said shyly, though he was smiling. “A genius would’a told yousooner that he likes baths and cuddling, and saved you both the suffering.”

“How ‘bout brave, then?” She softly kissed the underside of his jaw. “My hero?”

“Stop it.” He blushed and turned away from her. “I’m not a hero.”

“I said you’re _my_ hero.” She kissed his knuckles, smiling against them before licking his nearest finger and nipping at the pad. “You were brave enough to tell me what you like. That alone is going to save me suffering in the future, which makes you my hero. But, what makes you my hero most of all is the insight you provided me—that I _always_ need baths and cuddling, and denying myself is what brought on my suffering—because you healed me of all the hurt I didn’t realize I was carrying because I thought I couldn’t ask you for something I needed unless I was already suffering.”

Grimmjow just blinked at her for a few moments, trying to make the sensation of how fucking much he loved being called her hero fit into his body, and trying to parse out everything she had just lain on him: she thought he was brave—cool; he had saved her from suffering—awesome, he always wanted to do that for her; he had _healed_ her from past suffering—bitchin’. But...that last one...

“What kind of nonsense...” He shook his head. “Unless you’re _already_ suffering? How fuckin’ dumb would I have to be to refuse to provide you something that I didn’t want to provide for you until you needed twice as much of it as you normally would?”

“I didn’t say it was _logical_.” She smiled at him. “Wounds rarely are.”

Grimmjow couldn’t have stopped himself from kissing her even if he’d wanted to. He hadn’t really understood love until Asami, though others had planted the seeds. He had loved his _fracción_ —as much as he’d been capable of, anyway. He had been devastated when they had all died...when _he_ had gotten them all killed. His only solace was that he’d consumed a piece of each of them and carried them in his...soul? That was what Asami called it, but no one else believed he had one.

And he had watched Ichigo defend his friends and family, had watched him risk, and provide, and sacrifice everything for them. Grimmjow had been obsessed with defeating Ichigo not just because he’d wanted to prove that he was stronger than the ginger, but also because of his unconscious attempts to reject what Ichigo stood for: protection, attachment, love. All things that had intrigued Grimmjow—things he had _desired_ , even, and things he was furious about being taken away with the deaths of his _fracción_ —but which would have derailed his bid for King of Hueco Mundo, which he couldn’t have allowed back then, but which now no longer mattered.

Grimmjow _wanted_ to be a protector, a provider...a lover. Not all the time for everyone, and not in the self-immolating way that Ichigo went about it, but he cared about Asami and Ichigo—he wanted to help protect _them_ and what _they_ cared for. He now saw his attraction for Asami in a different light: she was basically Ichigo, refined. Her methods were different, but her motivations were the same. Was that why he’d taken to her so quickly? Why he’d fallen ass over teakettle for her? Because she’d been ready to accept his desires to protect and provide? Or because she reminded his unconscious of Ichigo?

Ichigo, only...not better, but...more ready. More ready to handle Grimmjow and his needs; more ready to allow, and help, Grimmjow to grow; more ready to let Grimmjow help _her_ grow.

Four years Ichigo had spent trying to make Grimmjow a “better person,” but Grimmjow had just been pissed off that someone as unwilling to change as Kurosaki Ichigo was trying to lecture him, Grimmjow, about evolving. Grimmjow had spent those same four years trying to get Ichigo to own up to his own potential, his own desires, to slough off the weight that the fucking Seireitei had shoved onto his shoulders, but he’d refused.

Now that Grimmjow thought about it, Ichigo had probably refused Grimmjow’s attempts to change him for the same reason that Grimmjow had refused Ichigo’s: neither had been walking their talk.

And then Asami showed up and bang! Like a catalyst, she had changed Grimmjow practically overnight. Not because she’d been trying, not because she had logic’d him into changing, or because she’d nagged him into it. He just knew that to get what he wanted in life—or death, whatever—he needed Asami, and to get Asami, he had to be different. Grimmjow had wanted her, and everything she represented, so bad that he had been willing to change in any ways that Asami had required. He had known from the moment she had stood up to him in Kurosaki Clinic that she was the answer to his sense of stagnation and malaise, the impetus he needed in order to progress.

And whatever the stupid Shinigami thought about him, Grimmjow’s entire existence was devoted to progression. He had not spent all that time eating his way to sentience just to plateau at “blood-thirsty maniac.” If he had to become a diplomat, he would. Or an artist, or an entrepreneur, or whatever else was required of him to get what he wanted. And, right now, he wanted what Asami wanted, and what Asami wanted was to help Ichigo.

Grimmjow ended their mini-make-out with a nip on Asami’s lip, then turned his head toward Ichigo. “I know you’re awake, Kurosaki.”

/////

Ichigo had awoken to Asami’s laughter. Then he had listened to the most alien exchange he had ever heard between two people before, their honesty and vulnerability and compassion for one another something that Ichigo wasn’t sure he’d ever witnessed. He was sure that if Renji had ever said something similar to Rukia about baths, she would have bonked him on the head and called him an idiot.

And hey, if it worked for them, fine, but it would never work for Ichigo. He used to beat himself up for being so sensitive, for being hurt and disrespected every time he got yelled at or insulted. He had learned to keep those wounds to himself, to pretend that nothing bothered him, to take it all with a shrug. He denied himself something that he desperately needed—connection—because it hurt less to deny himself than it did to be denied by others.

It was reassuring to know that Asami and Grimmjow had experienced the same thing with each other, despite how open and trusting they already were with one another. If they had been together for a year and were still coming clean with one another aboutsimple things like baths and cuddling, then Ichigo had room to grow, too. He had room to fuck up. And if forgiveness looked as good as Asami calling Grimmjow her hero, and Grimmjow kissing Asami so tenderly and passionately, Ichigo was a lot more willing to take the risk of failing at all of this.

Ichigo sheepishly cracked open one eye and swallowed nervously. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to intrude on your moment.”

“New rule,” Grimmjow scowled. “No apologizing unless I direct you to. Agreed?”

Ichigo wasn’t sure what to do with that. He had been trained to apologize since he was a kid. As the big brother, he’d been responsible for Karin and Yuzu, and when they got hurt, or got up to mischief, it was Ichigo who took the blame. Being bigger than pretty much everyone except Chad meant that he was the one who had to moderate his strength, even when he was the one being attacked. And dealing with the Shinigami, well…he wasn’t even sure any of them knew the phrase, ‘I’m sorry.’

“Agreed.” He nodded stiffly after a few moments.

“You’re in our fucking bed, Kuro…Ichigo.” Grimmjow scoffed then rose up on his knees so that he could see both Asami and Ichigo better. He didn’t miss how Ichigo’s pupils dilated as he took in Grimmjow’s new position over Asami. “We were discussing _you_. You can’t intrude where you already belong.”

Ichigo schooled his features so as not to show how deeply affected he was.

_“KING!”_ Shiro tore at his hair. “ _You have to tell them when they do something right! Show them how affected you are! You wanna fucking end up in the same place with them as you are with Rukia and Renji for never telling them when they did something wrong?!”_

Well, shit. Ichigo hadn’t actually considered that before. It was so easy to blame everything on them for being insensitive jerks, but…what if they didn’t know they were being insensitive jerks? What if hitting people and calling them idiots and yelling at them was just the Shinigami way of showing affection?

_“Don’t let them off too easy, ya pushover.”_

Shiro had not been nice while Ichigo slept. As the albino so aptly pointed out, though, he _had_ been kind—by being cruel. Shiro had bombarded Ichigo with terrible memories, a lowlight reel of Ichigo’s doormat-ish-ness over the years. It had not been short.

Whether it was the memory Nel had mentioned at the party; or the seemingly-endless memories of Rukia yelling at him every time he tried to be soft with her; and especially the memory of how they had just shouted at one another after he rescued her from the Seireitei, even though all he’d wanted was to hold her and assure himself that she was safe; or all the inordinately large favors he did for Urahara; or even letting Unagiya Ikumi push him around, Ichigo had been irrefutably confronted with a side of himself that he had tried to minimize as ‘adaptability.’

Ironically, he had given in to Shiro’s browbeating just to get the whole thing over with more quickly, which had made Shiro furious, but also smugly happy, because it proved his point: Ichigo didn’t adapt, he _appeased_. Appeasement was unsustainable and unacceptable.

Ichigo had to agree, which left him with the question: if not appeasement, then what?

Asami and Grimmjow had both given him answers to that question, which basically boiled down to: boundaries. And they both wanted him to learn through submission.

Despite all of Grimmjow’s changes, and their evolution from mortal enemies to sharing a bag of Skittles at movie night, it still seemed contrary to survival to give so much power to Grimmjow. Ichigo knew Grimmjow’s progression wasn’t an act, but his primitive brain was still afraid it was.

That the problem, though, wasn’t it? That Ichigo was fucking afraid?

Afraid to lose control of himself. Afraid to own what he wanted, what he needed. Afraid to hurt the people he loved.

He didn’t want to be afraid anymore.

With his heart thumping against his chest and his gut twisting into knots, Ichigo took a deep breath and imagined taking off his carefully-neutral face the same way he would take off his Hollow mask. He felt his face contorting into something new, something he wasn’t familiar with, and he was very nervous about how it looked, but he let it remain. Based on the sad little smiles both Asami and Grimmjow were wearing, Ichigo figured he had succeeded in letting them see his pathetic need to be part of something, to belong _somewhere_.

Grimmjow had rarely been so…struck before. He had watched Ichigo’s familiar mask of neutrality cover his face, and then he had watched Ichigo choose to remove that mask, to be more vulnerable than he probably had been since whatever event had taught him that he shouldn’t show happiness. Grimmjow almost felt lame, in comparison, for his show of vulnerability with Asami. It must have cost Ichigo a lot to let them see him like this.

Grimmjow wasn’t about to let Ichigo regret his choice. He leaned over and pressed his hand to Ichigo’s chest as he shifted from straddling Asami’s legs to straddling Ichigo’s. Ichigo looked unsure, looked worried he had done something wrong, so Grimmjow gave him a cocky grin and said, “You did good, Ichigo.”

The way Ichigo’s face lit up was as heart-wrenching as it was heart-warming. Didn’t he _know_ how well he’d done? Didn’t others tell him when he did well? Hadn’t…hadn’t Grimmjow shown his appreciation for Ichigo enough throughout their friendship?

No, maybe he hadn’t. That would change.

“You belong here.” Grimmjow said definitively, lacing his fingers with Asami’s and then placing their hands over Ichigo’s heart. “For as long as you want to.”

Ichigo looked sharply away, his eyes misting.

He was so embarrassed over how many fucking times he had cried today. How did he even have any tears left? He was struggling to face how much of a snowflake he had been today, couldn’t figure out why Grimmjow and Asami would want him here, why they hadn’t sent him packing yet.

It physically hurt, how overcome he was with _feelings_. Like he’d been stabbed. Sharp pains shot through his chest with every breath, and his gut was doing all kinds of weird flips and turns. It wasn’t like he’d never experienced this before, but this was the first time he hadn’t immediately shut down in response. This time, Ichigo let the flood overtake him and wash him out to the turbulent sea of his emotions. He felt like he was treading water in the ocean, watching the fins swim slowly toward him, just waiting for the sharks to attack.

“If he keeps doin’ so well on his own, he’s not even gonna need a whipping to encourage his surrender.” Grimmjow teased after it seemed that Ichigo was over the worst of it.

Ichigo’s eyes widened with fright, but his sharp gasp and the buck of his hips gave him away.

“Oh?” Grimmjow smiled happily then leaned down to cage Ichigo in with his arms as he whispered into Ichigo’s ear. “Sadly, we don’t actually own a whip. But maybe you’d settle for my hand? Or Pantera’s scabbard. Maybe one of Asami’s studded belts.”

Ichigo screwed his eyes shut and inhaled sharply.

All three of those things had featured prominently in his fantasies. The most recent fantasy had included Ichigo using Asami’s studded belt on Grimmjow, and Pantera’s scabbard on Asami. Then both of them being used on him. Then…well, Ichigo hadn’t lasted long enough for another variation.

It was one of the reasons he had felt so guilty about accepting Asami’s invitation earlier. The beginning of that fantasy had been particularly demeaning and savage, at least by Ichigo’s standards. Despite that he knew that he didn’t truly want to hurt or humiliate his friends, he couldn’t deny that he’d been sexually aroused by the thought of doing both, and he was ashamed of that knowledge about himself.

He couldn’t be a good person, a good man. He couldn’t be worthy of being part of a relationship so considerate and generous as Asami’s and Grimmjow’s, not even for a weekend. But, now that he was here, he couldn’t bring himself to leave. The only way out was through, and Ichigo figured might as well make the most of the journey. Yeah, he felt pretty guilty about that, too.

“Maybe I confused you, asking you a question like that.” Grimmjow purred and rolled his hips against Ichigo’s, barely glancing against his cock, like the right prick he was. “‘Cause see, I _know_ you wouldn’t be settling. I _know_ you fantasize about all those things. I see the way you look, the way your body responds. The way your eyes glaze over for a few seconds before you get a grip on yourself.” Grimmjow smiled meanly here. “Or the way you hurry out of the room to _get a grip on yourself_.”

Ichigo made a noise of abject horror and tried to sit up.

Grimmjow pushed firmly down on Ichigo’s chest, enough to tell Ichigo what he wanted, but not enough to make Ichigo think he didn’t have a choice in the matter.

Ichigo didn’t push any further, but he didn’t lie back down either. Just stayed on his elbows, his face the color of his hair, and his eyes averted.

“Ichigo.” Grimmjow called firmly. “Things are different now. Before, I could taunt and poke and prod at you all I wanted. Here? Now? You and your fantasies are safe here, even from me. In fact, they’re _welcomed_ , and you are encouraged to share. We make no promise to act on every aspect of your fantasies, but what we’re willing to do, we’ll do happily.”

“You don’t owe me _this_.” Ichigo blurted out quietly. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“It ain’t about owin’.” Grimmjow growled. “We fuckin’ love your dumb ass.”

Everyone froze for a few moments, Grimmjow and Ichigo looking particularly taken aback by Grimmjow’s declaration.

Asami wasn’t so much surprised that Grimmjow loved Ichigo as she was surprised that he had admitted it out loud. She was fairly certain he had never even admitted it in his head until this very moment. It made her gut twinge a little with fear, but she had known there was a possibility of Grimmjow leaving her for Ichigo when she broached the subject of inviting Ichigo to join them, and she had determined that the risk was worth it. She had even determined that if it _did_ happen, it would still be worth it. Hell, it would be worth it just to have been able to see the mortified expressions they were currently wearing.

Ichigo didn’t know what to do. Grimmjow…loved him? Grimmjow Jaegerjacques? Was Ichigo supposed to say it back? _Could_ he say it back? Did he _love_ Grimmjow? He definitely loved the way Grimmjow felt above him, the weight of him pressed against him. Ichigo had always loved that, actually—the way Grimmjow threw his weight around during spars, the way he pinned Ichigo against rocks, and the floor, and whatever else. Ichigo often held off on using his reiatsu to rebuff Grimmjow just to feel him pressing against him for a little bit longer.

Grimmjow had never wished for death more fervently than he did right then. He may not have understood why, but he knew the word ‘love’ was just as likely to scare a human off as it was to draw them closer, especially in a situation like this. Death, however, would mean reincarnation, which would mean abandoning Asami, which he refused to do. So, he would just have to man-up the same way Ichigo had and get vulnerable.

Grimmjow cleared his throat awkwardly, a blush high on his cheeks, then squared his shoulders. “I know what I fuckin’ said and I ain’t takin’ it back.”

Aside from Yuzu, Ichigo couldn’t remember the last time someone had told him that they loved him. Weirdly, the fact that Grimmjow had called him dumb while saying it made it all the more meaningful. Grimmjow didn’t love him because he was perfect, or because he had saved the Worlds multiple times. Grimmjow loved him even though he was dumb. Maybe even _because_ he was dumb.

Ichigo sat up, threaded his fingers through Grimmjow’s hair, and kissed him gratefully. It was odd, kissing a man, though not at all unpleasant. Ichigo kind of liked how much more angular Grimmjow’s jaw was than most women’s, how his neck and facial muscles were so much more defined, even how much bigger his teeth were. Ichigo had had a handful of short-term girlfriends throughout his university years, had learned to love kissing, and had been happy to leave things at just kissing if the woman he was with didn’t want to go further. Looking back on it, he could see how that had probably been interpreted as a lack on interest on his part, at least with a couple of the women. One had even told him that he wasn’t assertive enough for her.

But, he didn’t want to think about that right now. Right now, he just wanted to feel, to experience, to be _here_. And _here_ was a good place to be, with Grimmjow’s hands groping him demandingly, and Grimmjow’s mouth becoming reckless, and Grimmjow’s chest vibrating like the cat he was. It was such a sensual experience, and Ichigo decided, for once, to embrace it. He stopped trying to focus on any particular sensation, stopped trying to focus on how he should respond, and just let everything wash over him at once.

It was difficult, not focusing, not following one sensation over another, but he figured he’d been successful when he suddenly realized that he was on his back again, and Grimmjow’s hips were rolling so flawlessly against his. Ichigo realized how much noise he was making, tried to quiet down, only to have Grimmjow tug painfully at his hair then make a demanding noise in the back of his throat.

Ichigo moaned even louder, and his hips bucked sharply.

“Damnit!” Grimmjow tore his mouth away from Ichigo’s, placing his forehead on Ichigo’s chest as he panted harshly. “Fuck…Shit…Shit…Hold the fuck still, Ichigo!”

Ichigo made a terrified, apologetic little noise and went completely still, even though his cock demanded movement, demanded stimulation, demanded _just a little more_. Despite its demands, though, his cock was more than happy to comply with _Grimmjow’s_ demand. And Grimmjow noticed, too.

“So you _do_ want me to boss you around.” Grimmjow grinned, both happy and hungry.

Ichigo could feel his face burning, but he also felt himself smiling. How could he not laugh at himself: frozen stiff, and _stiff_ because of it, because Grimmjow was trying just as much as Ichigo was _not_ to cum so soon.

“You gonna always be such a good boy?” Grimmjow teased and gripped Ichigo’s jaw between his fingers. “Obey my every order?"

Ichigo gave Grimmjow the same ‘bring it on’ smile that he gave him before each of their spars.

“Didn’t think so.” Grimmjow licked his lips.

Sometimes, being a Dominant sucked. Being responsible for others? Having to put their needs above his own, make sure they were taken care of and squared away before tearing them apart? Not. Fun. Well, sometimes it was. And, of course, his reward for doing so always made up for the inconvenience. Until then, though, keeping his head on straight while he had a very hard, very eager Ichigo beneath him, seemed like a monumental task.

“Well, before I can tie you up and smack that ass raw,” Grimmjow gritted through his teeth because he couldn’t resist a little thrust of his hips as he spoke, “we have to hammer some things out. Like safe words.”

Ichigo’s eyes rolled back in his head. Not only had it had been so long since he’d had a little human touch, but Grimmjow’s flair with words had Ichigo riding that edge a lot sooner than normal.

“Gods, I can fuckin’ smell you, slut.” Grimmjow growled at Asami, an extra edge of wildness to it. “See somethin’ you like?”

Ichigo made a noise of protest that could have been indignation on Asami’s behalf, or it could have been about preventing Grimmjow from pushing him even closer to the edge.

Ichigo’s gut clenched when Grimmjow turned a dark grin on him and then threaded his fingers through Ichigo’s hair and sharply turned his head to face Asami. It was bad enough to see Asami there, so close and looking so turned on, but when Grimmjow leaned down and spoke directly into Ichigo’s ear, Ichigo shuddered.

“That’s right: you still need a name. What do you want us to call you while we fuck you?”

This time, Ichigo’s noise of protest was accompanied by a violent thrust of his hips. “OH! Gods.”

“Ah.” Grimmjow laughed softly then nipped Ichigo’s jaw. “You’re a whore for words, too, hm? Bet I could talk you all the way to climax. Watch you cum all over yourself. Bet it wouldn’t take long.”

“Oh fuck, Grimm!” Ichigo whimpered when Grimmjow pressed his hips firmly against Ichigo’s, making Ichigo _very_ aware of what was waiting for him. And, for once, Ichigo let the fantasies run rampant, rather than try to stop them, or feeling bad about them. He wanted his mouth wrapped around Grimmjow’s cock, wanted it down his throat. He wanted it stretching open his ass, pumping deep inside him…

“Ah, ah, ah, _Ichi_.” Grimmjow tutted and broke all contact with Ichigo. “Not so soon.”

Ichigo growled and pressed his palms to his face for a few moments to collect himself.

“Sir?” Asami crooned.

“Slut?” Grimmjow crooned back, making it much more difficult for Ichigo to calm down.

“Are you open to suggestions?”

Grimmjow quirked his lips. “I’m open to being open.”

“I’ve been working on something for you.” Asami’s voice dropped a little lower, got a little darker. “I could show it to you while you teach Ichigo how to breathe.”

“Yeah, I’m very open to that.” Grimmjow happily kissed Asami. After reluctantly pulling away, he grabbed Ichigo by the arm and pulled him off the bed. “On your feet, quickdraw.”

“Hey, fuck you!” Ichigo panted indignantly. “You try getting invited to a threesome with your two hottest friends _and_ endure your fucking teasing, and your kissing, and your _words_! I’m a little fuckin’ wound up.”

“I suppose that’s fair.” Grimmjow said magnanimously then gently bit Ichigo’s neck.

“ _Not helping_!” Ichigo whined and closed his eyes.

He only opened them again when Puscifer’s “Queen B” started playing on the stereo. Asami was standing there before him, her beautiful, dark eyes even darker with lust, her cheeks flushed, her teeth sinking into her lower lip. It was a look Ichigo had only imagined on her before; reality was so much better. She started with saucy little rolls of hips, smoothly stepping away from him and Grimmjow as she added in some arm movements.

“I want to undress you.” Grimmjow said roughly. “If that’s acceptable, you will answer, ‘Yes, sir.’ If it isn’t, you will say, ‘No, sir.’”

Ichigo stopped breathing. He’d never been particularly self-conscious about being naked, but this time felt different. It _was_ different—he would be naked in front of Asami, the first woman Ichigo wouldn’t be using to take his mind off Orihime. He would be naked in front of Grimmjow, who…well, Ichigo still wasn’t convinced of his safety from Grimmjow. Shiro wasn’t worried about it, and Ichigo figured that _he_ should be very worried because of that, but he just wasn’t sure why.

“Yes, sir.” Ichigo forced out around the lump in his throat, forced himself to be brave.

“Good boy.” Grimmjow purred and rubbed Ichigo’s ear before he slid his hands under Ichigo’s t-shirt, fingers brushing over the well-defined muscles underneath.

Asami began to move her chest, as if it belonged to a separate body than her hips. Ichigo gulped. In all his fantasies involving Asami, he had never imagined her dancing for him. Even if he had, he couldn’t have known to imagine her dancing like this. How could she move her ribs one way and her hips the other, all while keeping her torso still? Ichigo didn’t have the brain cells left to find an answer to that question once Asami’s fingers found the buttons on the front of her shirt.

Ichigo shivered and felt like his whole body was tingling.

“Gotta teach you how to breathe if you’re gonna last long enough for all the fun.” Grimmjow rested one hand on Ichigo’s chest, the other on his lower belly. “Now, breathe in through your nose. Fill up you belly first, then your chest…Good. Exhale through your nose, chest first this time…You’re a natural,” he teased.

“Get bent,” Ichigo pouted.

“Oh, I plan on bendin’ you all sorts of ways.” Grimmjow promised darkly, then slid his hand down Ichigo’s pants.

Ichigo nearly choked on his own spit.

“This time, when you breathe in, I want you to imagine all that sexual energy you got in here,” Grimmjow carefully stroked Ichigo’s cock, “movin’ from your perineum—you know where that is, right? ‘Course ya do, you’re a nurse—all the way up your spine to the top of your head. And when you breathe out, imagine that sexual energy moving down the front of your body until it reaches here.” Grimmjow pressed his palm to the space just below Ichigo’s bellybutton. “And imagine you’re storin’ all that energy in a jar.”

“Don’t I…” Ichigo cut off as Grimmjow’s dick twitched against him in response to Asami’s hip shimmy. “Fuck. Uh. Don’t I need that energy?”

“Not yet. Storage is unlimited, but not in your cock.” Grimmjow laughed. “Just try it a couple times, you’ll see the difference. It’s even better if you can breathe a few rounds before storing.”

Asami had finished with the last button on her shirt and now the fabric hung open teasingly and made Ichigo want to rip it off her. Her movements were more sensual than sexual, seemed more about making herself feel good rather than putting on a show for Ichigo, and there was something so very arousing about that. His mouth was as dry as Hueco Mundo, and as Asami’s hands glided over her hips, Ichigo knew exactly where to get a drink.

His face flamed up at the thought of drinking from Asami, both from lust and embarrassment.

“You’re so easy to read.” Grimmjow laughed darkly as he pulled Ichigo’s shirt off. “You gotta earn the right to drink from that pussy.”

Asami’s movements faltered as her knees buckled. Ichigo was worried for a second that she was going to fall over completely. But, she just picked up her dancing more intensely than before, her movements becoming sharper and more overtly sexual as she removed her shirt entirely.

“How?” Ichigo asked desperately as he watched, mesmerized, as Asami’s breasts jiggled back and forth in a lacy purple bra as she shimmied her shoulders. Gods, Ichigo hoped her panties matched.

“First, you fuckin’ bulldozer,” Grimmjow began as he curiously ran his hands across Ichigo’s exposed skin, “we gotta know your boundaries. Safe words, hard limits, what you _like_. And you don’t go anywhere near Asami ’til you prove that you understand the same for her. Got it?”

Ichigo nodded, eyes still glued to Asami, who was now facing away from him as she unclasped her bra. Fuck but he loved the way she was put together, the way he could seethe faint movements of her muscles beneath her skin as she danced, how soft and plush she looked. He bit his lip as she shimmied her hips, remembering the time Nel had nearly broken his leg for saying that Orihime wasn’t as heavy as she looked—he had meant it as a compliment, saying she looked heavy. Maybe heavy hadn’t been quite the right word, though. Maybe sturdy, or hardy, or…substantial.

Yeah, substantial: solid, real, significant, ample. Literally and metaphorically. If Orihime was all those things, Asami was more so…except in her breasts, but Ichigo was more interested in her ass, anyway. Even more, Asami knew how to work her body, show it off to its advantage. She seemed to embrace everything about her body without hesitation and Ichigo loved that. It was…energizing. He felt so much happier and invigorated just from watching her that he could hardly wait to do more than watch.

Oh, right, if he wanted to do that, he had to give Grimmjow some information. Information that Ichigo didn’t really have.

“Got it.” Ichigo nodded. “Only…I don’t know the answers to any of those things.”

“I know.” Grimmjow said reassuringly as he unbuckled Ichigo’s belt. “We can use the stoplight system for your safe words, for now. We can explore what you think you’ll like. But, you must have at least a couple ideas about what you won’t, under any circumstances, be willing to do?”

For Grimmjow and Asami, Ichigo was pretty sure he’d be willing to try anything. Shiro, on the other hand, was quick to throw down some boundaries.

“Uh, yeah.” Ichigo nodded. “No non-sexual bodily fluids, except saliva. But, _no_ spitting. No recording devices of any kind. And I don’t want to be humiliated.” Ichigo relayed definitively. “Anything else…I guess I won’t know ’til it comes up.”

“Agreed.”

Ichigo barely registered Grimmjow’s acceptance because Asami’s pants had fallen lower on her hips, exposing the upper part of her lacy purple underwear. He was pretty sure the term was “whale tail” and that it wasn’t flattering, but at the moment, he couldn’t think of anything he’d rather see.

“What, um…what’s…stoplights?” Ichigo asked breathlessly.

“Green means good to go,” Grimmjow enthusiastically kissed Ichigo’s neck and groped his body from behind.

Asami also matched his enthusiasm with her dancing.

“Yellow means ease up,” Grimmjow slowed down his kisses and his hand.

Asami slowed her movements, which actually made Ichigo even hotter, but he got the message they were sending.

“Orange means pause immediately.” He stopped kissing and touching but left his lips and hands against Ichigo’s skin.

Asami paused exactly as she was, one hip lifted toward her head, her back arched enticingly, and her head looking over her shoulder.

“And red means stop everything, end scene.” Grimmjow pulled away completely, lips and hands.

Asami grabbed a throw blanket from the foot of the bed and draped it over her head and body like a ghost costume.

They all laughed at that, breaking some of the tension and allowing Ichigo to relax. As turned on as he was, he was still immensely unsure of himself in this situation, scared of doing or saying something that would make Asami and Grimmjow call the whole thing off.

_“They’re not that cruel, King!”_ Shiro shouted frustratedly. _“Don’t make me start poking around your brain to find the…A.C. whatever it’s called. The anxiety center.”_

_“Anterior cingulate gyrus,”_ Ichigo told him. _“And don’t you dare start messing with my chemicals. It’s possible to have not enough anxiety, you know.”_

_“It would probably take me days to get you down to that point.”_ Shiro rolled his eyes.

“Green,” Ichigo insisted earnestly. “Both of you: green.”

Asami began dancing again, her movements slower and more rounded because she had noticed how much Ichigo liked it that way. She repeatedly turned her body just enough for Ichigo and Grimmjow to catch glimpses of her breasts before turning away again, giggling at their frustrated noises.

Grimmjow returned his lips and hands to Ichigo’s body and said, “If you’re gonna survive her teasing long enough to give her a taste of her own medicine, you’re gonna have to breathe like I showed you.”

While Ichigo watched Asami turn around with her arms over her bare breasts, Grimmjow told him to breathe in for five seconds and exhale for five seconds, imagining the energy like before.

Ichigo was pretty annoyed about the breathing, to be honest, but when Asami began to show them exactly how she liked her breasts to be touched, he knew he had to do something before he lost control of himself. He shut his eyes and leaned his head back against Grimmjow, trying to follow his breathing instructions to a T. After a couple of rounds, he was amazed to realize that he could actually feel his energy moving, that he could feel it pool in his belly as he stored it. And, even more amazing, the breathing had taken his arousal from ‘agonizing’ to 'insistent, yet bearable.’

“You’re allowed to use your safe-words at any time and for any reason.” Grimmjow unbuttoned Ichigo’s jeans. “I’m allowed to check-in with you whenever I want. If you say ‘green,’ but I think you’re not lucid enough to truly give consent, or I think you’re lying, I’m gonna stop. We’re trusting you to be honest with us, Ichigo. Are you going to be honest with us?”

Ichigo had never thought of it that way before. It always seemed like the submissive was the only one whose trust was being put to the test. It made sense, though, that in a healthy relationship, the Dominant would also have to trust the submissive to tell him when she was at her limits, trust her to let him know when he’d approached a boundary so that he wouldn’t cross it, so that she wouldn’t call off their arrangement and leave him to wonder what he’d done wrong, how he’d hurt her…Shit, now he was thinking about Orihime.

“Yes.” Ichigo replied, mentally thanking Shiro for sweeping a certain someone from his thoughts. “On Zangetsu. I promise.”

“Good boy.” Grimmjow cooed and softly flexed his fingers against Ichigo’s scalp as a reward. It seemed to be a reward he enjoyed, if the way his eyes closed and his small noise of agreement were anything to go by. “Ichigo, nothing…penetrative will happen without your express verbal consent.” Grimmjow turned Ichigo’s head so that he could give him a look that conveyed a solemn oath. “On Pantera.”

Ichigo hadn’t realized how much tension he’d been carrying over that particular topic until it was released. Grimmjow’s promise was exactly what he needed. He didn’t think he was psychologically nervous about being penetrated, but physically, he definitely was. He knew that, anatomically speaking, rectums weren’t made for penetration. Their cell walls weren’t nearly as thick or as strong as a vagina, and they were much, much more prone to tearing. As a nurse, he had seen enough cases of such tearing, and worse, that he had, more than once, sworn off anal sex forever, as receiver and giver.

But, he could never deny that he was turned on by the thought of both giving and receiving. He had done some research, and had even bought and used a dildo on himself, but he had never been able to make it comfortable enough to turn off his anxiety. Even Shiro had been nervous about it. And after seeing and feeling what Grimmjow was working with, Shiro and Ichigo were both nervous as fuck.

…And, intrigued.

As Ichigo’s jeans pooled at his feet in a mirror of Asami’s own pants, he didn’t feel exposed and defenseless, like he’d expected to.

He felt free, maybe for the first time in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it turns out that:
> 
> 1) Ichigo's transformation is a mirror of my own (although mine, unfortunately, does not involve a threesome with Grimmjow) and as my transformation lags, so does his, which means, so does my writing.
> 
> 2) Uh, it's really hard to write what you don't know! Who'd've guessed? I've never been in a threesome, and I've never been a man, so, there's a lot of variables here that I'm just hypothesizing about. I figure, though, that if we were in search of precision, accuracy, and realism, we would not be reading fanfic lol
> 
> Also, I accidentally ended up on a 9 day straight schedule at work the week before and week of Christmas; plus my grandma and mom got Covid, and I live with my grandma to take care of her; plus all of life's other stuff, that just never stops, no matter how busy you are, and never leaves you alone, no matter how exhuasted you are.
> 
> Anyway, I will endeavor not to take so long for the next chapter, but no promises.


	6. Squeeze a Little, Tease a Little, Please a Little More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ichigo makes some progress, but everything comes with a price...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all, I'm just gonna apologize up front that 
> 
> 1) this chapter is a lot shorter than usual, and   
> 2) for ending it like I did
> 
> However, both have a reason, and that reason is that I would like your input on a couple of pretty major things! Check out the notes at the end to find out what 😘

Grimmjow had never seen Asami so comfortable in her skin before. She had danced for him before, had stripped for him before, but they had always been uncomfortable exercises in trusting his desire for every last inch of her no matter whether it jiggled or not (he always preferred when it did).

Now, though, she didn’t show a single trace of discomfort or embarrassment. Asami was all confidence and carefree exhibition, a level of sexy self-assurance that nearly had Grimmjow drooling. _This_ was what she had been working on for him and he wanted to give her the world in return.

He briefly worried that Ichigo’s presence was the reason for Asami’s shift, then decided that, if it were, Ichigo wasn’t allowed to leave. Grimmjow probably would have decided this anyway, after wrapping his hand around Ichigo’s cock.

Grimmjow now knew that his previous desire to take Ichigo into his mouth had not been enthusiastic enough…or cautious enough. It really shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but Ichigo was bigger than expected, proportionately speaking. Still not as big as Grimmjow, but not far off. Grimmjow found himself wishing he had joined Asami in some of her throat and jaw exercises every morning, which she insisted (with a wink) were to help her TMJ disorder and to "round out" her voice.

Now that he was faced with taking this impressive piece of equipment into his mouth, Grimmjow wondered how in the hell Asami managed it with _his_ impressive piece of equipment. For fuck’s sake, she didn’t even gag anymore!

Grimmjow’s knees wobbled at the thought of gagging on Ichigo’s cock, of choking himself with it, sliding his mouth down hard enough and fast enough to make his eyes water. Of letting Ichigo choke him, letting him fuck his face and cum down his throat.

Ichigo made a garbled sound that drew Grimmjow’s attention to how tightly he was squeezing Ichigo’s cock. Grimmjow loosened his grip marginally as he made a vaguely apologetic sound.

“Do you have any idea how bad I want you?” Grimmjow asked, intending it to be dirty talk,but even to his own ears, he sounded awkward and self-conscious. Grimmjow knew Ichigo was attracted to him, but that didn’t mean that he’d agreed to this weekend because he wanted to be with Grimmjow. For all Grimmjow knew, Ichigo was just tolerating his participation in order to be with Asami.

Ichigo tensed for a moment, exhaled slowly, then pressed his ass against Grimmjow. “‘Bout as bad as I want you.”

“Yeah?” Grimmjow smiled happily against Ichigo’s neck, then gave a gentle tug to Ichigo’s cock. “Want me, how?”

Ichigo gulped and forced himself not to turn away. Not that he was really looking at Grimmjow anyway, what with the Arrancar being behind him, but Grimmjow was looking at _him_ and Ichigo liked that, as unsettling as it was.

“How do you want me, Ichigo?” Grimmjow asked again, softly; seductively; trying to entice Ichigo to play without scaring him off. “Gentle?”

Ichigo scoffed at the word in relation to Grimmjow, a small smile on his lips, but still shrugged and answered, “Sometimes.”

“Sometimes…?”

“Sometimes, Sir.”

“Good boy.” Grimmjow nuzzled Ichigo’s neck for a moment. “How ‘bout rough? Do you want me rough?”

Ichigo nodded and softly said, “Yes, Sir.”

“That sound you made a second ago…when I did this—” Grimmjow squeezed Ichigo’s cock again, as hard as before.

Ichigo’s knees gave out, forcing Grimmjow to support his entire weight. Not such a hardship, considering he wasn’t wearing his restrictive gigai. Grimmjow laughed softly at Ichigo’s embarrassed look then gave him a playful nip on his jaw.

Grimmjow was actually quite accustomed to holding Asami like this while he used his hand to pleasure her, so it wasn’t difficult to adjust his approach to Ichigo.

“So. You _are_ a masochist.” Grimmjow held Ichigo tightly to his chest, his arm wrapped around Ichigo’s ribs like a vice. Ichigo tried to stand on his own, even fought Grimmjow’s hold on him, but the moment Grimmjow squeezed his cock again, Ichigo’s knees faltered once more, and he leaned even more heavily against Grimmjow. “Nel’s a masochist. Liked it when I made her cry. Do you want me to make you cry?"

Ichigo was too irked at how easily Grimmjow held him to respond, irked at how it felt a little like how he imagined children felt when adults picked them up against their will. Then his knees gave out again, the traitors. But, instead of crumpling to the floor like the little flop of his stomach anticipated, he remained where he was.

That was when it clicked for Ichigo that Grimmjow wasn’t holding him to belittle him, and his grip wasn’t tight to deny Ichigo an escape. He was holding Ichigo so that Ichigo could let go; his grip was tight to prevent Ichigo from falling.

Something shifted in Ichigo, then, and in his Inner World, a large crack broke across a tundra of ice he had only ever been vaguely aware of, and he wondered if this was what Asami had described earlier. He hadn’t really believed that he would be able to let go, to give up being in charge, to just let Grimmjow take care of him. But right now, he wasn’t even in charge of keeping his own body upright, and that brought some realizations with it.

Like how he’d believed that it was his duty to keep the entire fucking World upright since he was fifteen years old. Multiple Worlds. He couldn’t just _let go_ , or let someone else be in charge, because _he_ was the only being in existence that could do what needed to be done. Many, many ancient beings had told him so many, many times…Including his own father.

Or how he’d taken charge of Yuzu and Karin after he believed he’d killed their mother, and how Isshin had let him. In fact, Isshin had added himself to the list of people Ichigo had to care for, and Ichigo hadn’t balked (at first) because he had also killed the love of Isshin’s life, so obviously, Isshin needed to be cared for, too.

And who else could even be in charge if he let go, if he just shrugged his shoulders, like Atlas should’ve? Certainly not any of his semi-human friends—Ishida was better suited to support roles where his eye for detail could have free rein; Orihime was a healer, not a fighter; and Chad hated leading. Rukia was bossy, certainly, and liked to play at being in charge, but when it came down to it, she followed the orders of beings that Ichigo knew to be full of shit. And Renji followed Rukia.

Never in a million years would Ichigo have thought that _Grimmjow_ would be the person he could entrust all his responsibilities to, even just metaphorically. Ichigo knew this weekend wasn’t going to be some cure-all for his problems, that he wasn’t going to magically have no more responsibilities, or be able to saddle Grimmjow with them all. Ichigo hadn’t come here in the hopes of gaining the selfishness and courage needed to tell everyone in his life to fuck off, before hopping on a plane to Bermuda, or wherever it was that people went when they decided that dying of skin cancer was a better fate than whatever lives they were living.

He had come here because he knew that sparring with Grimmjow wasn’t enough anymore, and drinking his problems away only created more problems. He needed something that actually transformed him, that made him into the kind of person who could stand up for himself, not just for others. What he needed was what Grimmjow and Asami had both promised him he could get with them.

_“If you put in the work, King.”_

“—color, Ichigo?” Grimmjow asked firmly.

“Hmm?” Ichigo jolted out of his mind and back into his body, which was still being held tightly by Grimmjow. Grimmjow didn’t seem very sexual anymore, despite that his hand was still around Ichigo’s cock. Rather, he exuded the kind of dominance that Asami used with difficult patients.

“What. Is. Your color. Ichigo?”

“Green,” he answered quietly. Then, a bit stronger, “Green.”

“You zoned out for a minute—why?”

“I don’t know.” Ichigo answered automatically, a reflex answer after so many years of zoning out and not being able to trust others with his experiences.

“Yes, you do.”

“What do you know about it?” Ichigo replied belligerently and tried to shrug away from Grimmjow.

“Ichigo.”

Grimmjow’s tone was stern and carried the unmistakeable notes of disappointment and exasperation. It made Ichigo’s chest hurt and his gut drop. Even Asami winced at the sound and gave Ichigo a compassionate look.

“Ichigo.”

“Yes…Sir?” He answered meekly.

“Do you remember promising on Zangetsu that you wouldn’t lie to us?”

Ichigo winced. “Yes, Sir.”

“Do I need to remind you that a lie of omission is still a lie?”

“No, Sir.”

“Okay, then.” Grimmjow nuzzled Ichigo’s neck. “I’m going to trust you. I’m going to trust that you didn’t zone out so that you could run away. I’m going to trust that you’re not lying just to make us happy.”

“I’m not! I wasn’t. I mean, I wasn’t running away, I…I…was…processing, I guess.” Ichigo stammered out, afraid of making Grimmjow and Asami re-think this weekend. He felt a further shift as he made a choice to pursue submission, deepening that crack in the ice that led down to treacherous waters.

“Processing what?”

“That…I…Like the way you hold me,” he finished very quietly, more embarrassed than he’d been all day, and pretty sure that he was going to spontaneously combust at any second.

He knew that Grimmjow had heard him by the way Grimmjow stilled, the way his grip became even more secure. He knew that Asami had heard him by the high-pitched squeal that probably only dogs should have been able to hear.

Grimmjow’s laughter rumbled through his chest and into Ichigo’s. “Ah, yes, the unmistakeable call of the yaoi-fanatic.”

Ichigo would have laughed, too, except that Grimmjow continued,

“I wonder what sound she’ll make when you’re sucking my cock.”

Ichigo—and Asami—whimpered.

Grimmjow smiled against Ichigo’s ears, the brushing of his lips making Ichigo shiver. “Or when I’m sucking yours.”

Ichigo’s eyes bulged and his cock twitched. “Y-you…want that?”

“Want what?” Grimmjow asked meanly. When Ichigo didn’t answer, Grimmjow squeezed Ichigo’s cock, harder than before, and smiled at the slick of pre-cum that seeped out. “Want what?”

“My cock in your mouth.” Ichigo replied with hostility, his tone heavily implying a ‘ _bitch’_ there at the end.

It took all of Grimmjow’s strength not to drop Ichigo to his knees and fuck that sass right out of his mouth. Soon—he hoped—that would be an option, but he’d promised Ichigo to get consent before penetrating him, and he didn’t have that yet. What he did have was Ichigo’s admission that he wanted Grimmjow to be rough; that he liked pain; and that he’d fantasized about impact play.

That would do.

Ichigo cried out in a mixture of agony and ecstasy when Grimmjow’s palm collided with the side of his ass. Just as the pain was diffusing into a warm, pleasant heat, he felt Grimmjow shift to his side, still holding him tightly, and then the second smack came, a bit harder than the first. There was more ecstasy than agony in Ichigo’s shout this time, and more pre-cum dripped from his cock and onto the bamboo floor.

The third smack, though, harder than the first two, was too much. Not too much to take—Ichigo could take a lot of pain—but too much to still be pleasurable, at least to him. Yes, he was a masochist, but for Ichigo, a little went a long way.

Grimmjow smoothed his hand over the abused spot while nuzzling Ichigo’s neck.

Ichigo was beginning to realize that nuzzling was one of Grimmjow’s ways of telling him he’d done well. He wondered what happened to the head scritches and the ear rubbing, then realized that Grimmjow didn’t have any free hands right now to do those things. Ichigo moaned softly and rubbed his cheek against Grimmjow’s head to let him know he was okay.

The final strike took Ichigo out at the knees with the way the mixed sensations of pain and pleasure coursed through him. Ichigo nearly came, but managed to hold off by reciting the origin and insertion points of the facial muscles. Grimmjow’s grip never faltered, his presence never wavered.

Ichigo knew he was being punished, but he had never realized how affirming a punishment could be when the punisher didn’t just take off afterward, or tell him not to be such a baby about it. In fact, Grimmjow had never done either of those things in all their time together. If he was mad at Ichigo, he stuck around until he wasn’t mad anymore, usually demanding that Ichigo engage in their own form of conflict resolution—typically a fight to the near-death, complete with threats of evisceration and cannibalism. He never yelled at Ichigo then took off to Hueco Mundo for a month; or hit him then disappeared before resolving anything; or gave him a death-glare from across the room and refused to tell him why.

“That’s called discipline, Ichigo.” Grimmjow said, because it didn’t take a genius to interpret the bewilderment on Ichigo’s face, or the way he was more relaxed than he’d been since he’d entered the house. “It’s meant to teach you what is acceptable to me and what isn’t. The point isn’t to punish you for doing something wrong—the point is to teach you. So the next time you get mouthy,” Grimmjow growled, sending thrills down Ichigo’s spine, “you’ll get ten of those, and they won’t be so pleasant. Agreed?”

“Yes, Sir.” Ichigo replied breathily.

So that was why it had felt different: not because Ichigo was a masochist, or because the punisher happened to be Ichigo’s wettest dream. But because Grimmjow hadn’t been punishing. Ichigo wasn’t sure he had ever been disciplined before, in the more general sense. Certainly not in school—school was all about punishment. Everyone from the Seireitei just hit him and shut him out when they were mad at him. Karin, too, though not as harshly. Yuzu…Ichigo hated upsetting Yuzu more than anyone because she never tried to punish, but she didn’t know how to express her anger and always ended up excusing herself and going to her room until she was ready to apologize to _him_ ; it made Ichigo feel like shit and he couldn’t even be mad about it.

Then there was Isshin. Growing up, Ichigo had been mostly-convinced that the daily attacks were punishment for killing Masaki. That every time Isshin had ignored Ichigo’s prolonged absences, or never made mention about how different he’d been while Kon had been in his body, or all the disappointed, weary, and exasperated sighs had been about punishing Ichigo, about making sure that he knew that Isshin didn’t care about him. The notion had only solidified in Ichigo’s mind when he found out his dad was a Soul Reaper, a fucking Captain.

Despite Ichigo’s beliefs, he would have killed to have been able to talk to Isshin about all the Soul Reaper shit in the beginning. He was still his dad, after all. But that hadn’t happened. Isshin had said nothing, despite that he knew everything that was going on with Ichigo, including that Rukia was sleeping in his closet. He never even gave Ichigo “the talk.” Which, fair enough, he guessed, considering the incompatibility of Soul Reaper and human biology, but there was more to caution him about than accidental pregnancy, or even STIs, wasn’t there? Ichigo had learned that the hard way when he’d had sex for the first time, with a woman whose name he couldn’t even remember.

Something else shifted in Ichigo’s brain, and now Ichigo was sideways on one of the skyscrapers of his Inner World, staring at the black-hole that appeared out of nowhere and showed him just how much energy he was throwing away by holding on to the idea that his dad could have been a better father. Ichigo stood with Shiro and looked at it, watching it expand as more and more debris flew into its dense, gravitational pull.

Before, when Ichigo could only _sense_ the energy-suck happening, he would panic and try to prevent the black-hole from destroying him by minimizing the energy he used elsewhere. “Depression” was the word he usually heard from family and friends.

Ichigo heard Grimmjow’s voice, off in the distance trying to get his attention, but Ichigo just kept contemplating the black-hole.

/////

Grimmjow tried for thirty seconds to get a response from Ichigo before Asami, now wearing a robe, came over to put a comforting hand on his arm.

“Lay him down, Grimm. He’ll be okay.”

Grimmjow placed Ichigo on the bed, then stood and began pacing the room.

Asami watched him, observing how different he was with Ichigo. She’d been observing it all night: the way he allowed Ichigo’s steamrolling-nature to set the pace, rather than Grimmjow’s need for information with which to strategize the rest of the weekend together; the way he lacked confidence to go in for “the kill;” the way he was distancing himself from Ichigo right now, rather than giving Ichigo someone to return to. Though she didn’t know Ichigo’s typical sexual self, Asami figured that Ichigo was behaving just as abnormally as Grimmjow. It wasn’t difficult to see why nothing had happened between them before.

“Come here.” She said firmly, pointing to the other side of Ichigo, whom she had wrapped in a blanket.

Grimmjow stilled for a moment, confusion and then self-reprimand distorting his features, then he crawled onto the bed and wrapped himself around Ichigo, the same way he would do for Asami in a situation like this. Holy shit, he couldn’t even dwell on the thought that Asami would be unresponsive for over two minutes. He would have _Garganta’d_ over to Kurosaki Clinic by now, or to Hueco Mundo for Nel. He would go to Orihime, or hell, even the Seireitei, if he had to.

“He’s going to be okay, Grimm. He’s just talking to his Hollow. We’ve seen him do this before.”

“For so fucking long? Right after I fucking spanked him?”

Asami couldn’t help but smile.

“Go to hell.” Grimmjow pouted, but rubbed his cheek against her hand when she reached out for him.

“If I thought he were in danger, I would’ve done something about it by now. Hell, if he were literally anyone else except Kurosaki Ichigo, I would assume he’d burst a blood vessel and needed immediate medical attention. But he _is_ Kurosaki Ichigo and he’s spent three months like this before. I think we can give him a few more minutes before we confess to Isshin that we seduced his son into a ménage à trois of a BDSM nature.”

Grimmjow closed his eyes and nodded, though he was clearly not convinced.

Asami couldn’t really blame him. He took his role as a Dominant very seriously, particularly the safety aspect. Asami knew that he still carried the ghosts of his poor leadership concerning his _fracción,_ and was determined to do better with any all that he now commanded, no matter how big or small the 'mission.' Asami also knew, though Grimmjow had never said as much out loud, that he had a fear of ending up as cold, cruel, and uncaring as Aizen. If something happened to Ichigo because of Grimmjow, Grimmjow would be devastated.

Asami wanted to talk to him about her observations, but she deferred in order to let him focus his attention on Ichigo. Grimmjow liked to give a task his full attention, and every time she insisted on diverting his attention from something, they both ended up frustrated, and Asami got nowhere on her goal. So, she climbed over her two men so that she could big-spoon Grimmjow ‘cause, hey, Dominants needed comfort, too.

“Distract me,” Grimmjow pleaded after only a few seconds, even as he held Ichigo tighter.

Asami smiled against Grimmjow’s neck as she trailed her hand slowly down his arm, squeezing his bicep and giving an appreciative moan because she knew that made him feel strong and sexy.

She danced her fingers across his chest, teasing his nipples as she gently bit his ear with a wistful sigh.

Then she circled her way down his insanely-chiseled abs, making breathless noises as his muscles twitched beneath her touch.

She made her way back up to his head, where she caressed his cheeks, his temples, his eyebrows. She stroked his hair and massaged his scalp until he was purring, the sound rumbling from his body to Asami’s as he relaxed against her.

“I love you.”

“Not now, woman, I’m trying to be stressed.” Grimmjow sighed, his eyes closed as he turned his head to nuzzle Asami’s neck.

“Oh, I see.” She laughed softly before leaning over to kiss the corner of his mouth, encasing the both of them in her long hair. “You know,” she smiled, “stress doesn’t have to feel like shit.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s the definition of stress.” Grimmjow smiled at her, then kissed her nose.

“So, you feel like shit when you spar with Ichigo?”

“No.” Grimmjow scoffed. “But that’s not—”

“Yes, it is. Clinically, a fight causes stress on your system. Clinically,” she licked the shell of his ear, “so does wrapping my mouth around your cock.”

Grimmjow gulped.

“Do you feel like shit then?”

“No.” He replied hoarsely.

“Then, maybe,” she trailed her hand down Grimmjow’s body, “if I wrap my hand around your cock, you can let me tell you that I love you and still be as stressed as you want.”

Grimmjow fondly grinned up at Asami. “I’m not sure Ichigo would appreciate waking up with my cum all over him.”

“Actually, I really would.”

When Asami flipped her hair out of the way, Ichigo was staring back at her and Grimmjow with a bashful, apologetic little smile.

“Shut up!” Asami grinned. “You had your first epiphany!”

“Yeah.” Ichigo shook his head in amazement, his eyes a bit dazed. “Are they all so…”

“Exhausting?” Grimmjow supplied knowingly.

“Yeah.”

“At first.” Asami nodded.

“Then they usually ease up once you get passed the big stuff. ‘Cept for the surprises,” Grimmjow finished with un-fond reminiscence.

“Do you wanna tell us about it?”

Ichigo blushed even more bashfully and gave them both a sheepish look. “Yeah…but…”

“What did I say about omission?” Grimmjow asked lazily, though his eyes were sharp and focused, ready to listen to Ichigo.

“Don’t you need to, like… _release_?”

“Aww!” Asami cooed and fought the urge to pinch Ichigo’s cheek, mostly because Grimmjow caught her glare and gave her a warning shake of his head. So, she leaned down to kiss Grimmjow’s cheek. “He’s concerned for our sexual satisfaction!”

“You’re such a dork sometimes.” Grimmjow shook his head like he couldn’t believe he loved someone so uncool. Then he quickly spun so that Asami was pinned beneath him so that he could kiss her breathless. With that task finished, and Asami panting beneath him, he turned to Ichigo’s red, but interested, face. “Contrary to popular belief, _release_ ,” he said the word with an eye roll, like, again, he couldn’t believe he loved someone so uncool that they couldn’t at least say ‘orgasm,’ “is not the only reason to play. It isn’t even the best reason. So don’t you worry your pretty little head about us.”

“…You’re not even gonna explain?” Ichigo exclaimed. “‘Cause in my—okay, limited—experienced, not providing a release is what gets you kicked to the curb.”

“Gods, your life just sounds worse and worse the more I hear about it.” Grimmjow shook his head.

“Gee, thanks.” Ichigo replied, a bit coldly.

Even Asami had pinched Grimmjow’s arm and given him a _What the hell did you say that for?_ look.

“What?” Grimmjow asked defensively, to neither in particular. “We invited you here to help you fix it. We can’t fix what we don’t know about, and we can’t fix what we don’t admit is fucking messed up, now can we?” When Asami and Ichigo grudgingly nodded their heads, Grimmjow sat back on his heels and crossed his arms. “Good. Now, both of you put on some clothes and meet me in the kitchen, ya immoral hussies.”

Asami laughed loudly as Grimmjow walked out of the bedroom.

Even Ichigo cracked a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before I ask you for your valuable time and energy, I want to thank all of you for the time and energy you've already given me, just by reading, but especially by commenting and leaving kudos. Y'all have been so kind and patient with my attempts at telling this story. 
> 
> Like I mentioned in previous notes, my psyche has linked my own transformation to Ichigo's, which means that when he wins, I tend to win, and when I falter, so does he. As I've re-read some of the stuff I've written, I can see very clearly how I have stalled actually moving this story forward, all in the name of showing the typically-glanced-over aspects of, really, any sexual relationship, but especially one of this nature, first. While that is certainly a part of this story that I wanted to tell, I think I have put some of my own characteristics and faulty-thinking onto Ichigo, and a bit on Grimmjow, and that is one of the reasons I am having trouble writing: they aren't truly in character.
> 
> Which brings me to my first question: do y'all still want the fumbling, learning, new-to-all-this scenes or do you want me to just imply that everything is consensual and above-board and just get right into the porn? Or, both: keep the learning and just add more porn? 'Cause I know I've left y'all hanging with the last couple chapters, and it honestly wasn't my intention to tease you so bad 😅
> 
> My second question has to do with the fact that this is the first time I have written anything so linearly. If you read "Inspiration for Kintsugi," you saw a little bit of how I typically write: using flashbacks to provide depth. When I originally planned this fic to be straight-up PWP, I thought using flashbacks to interupt the porn would be too annoying, and chose not to use them because I figured it would be over quickly and give me some practice writing in a different style. Now that the story is almost 40,000 words (on AO3—in my document it's almost 100,000), I'm having more and more difficulty writing so that everything flows in a way that I like, and I can definitively say that I hate this style (for myself, not necessarily when I read others' works).
> 
> So my question is: would it turn you all off if the style of this story changed so drastically right in the middle? And, yes, if I do end up switching styles, I will—eventually—be re-writing the first 5 chapters to fit that style.
> 
> And my last question is: are any of you interested in the stories I keep hinting at within the main story? Because this fic has kind of turned into a transformative thing for me, a way for me to gauge where I am with my own shit, and I plan to keep writing and writing until I get where I need to be, but that is something that can just be mine. If you're not interested in anything beyond this 4 day weekend I've got planned for our 3 lovers, no sweat. I swear, it won't hurt my feelings if you're just here for the porn...which is pretty conspicuously absent 😂
> 
> Well, I think that's it for now. Thank you all in advance for your help and support! It seriously brightens my day when I read your comments, and it helps motivate me and give me a purpose when I know y'all are waiting for me to post. Again, I'm sorry this chapter is a bit wonky and a total cock-tease. Whatever your answers end up being, I promise there will be honest-to-Pantera GrimmIchi action in the next chapter, no matter what I have to do to get there! 💕


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